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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23829214">it feels like grace every time you're near</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth_writes/pseuds/annabeth_writes'>annabeth_writes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>short fic ideas that turned into long fics because I have no self control [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Secret Marriage, Visions in dreams, jojen reed lives for the drama, jon and sansa are jaehaerys I and alysanne 2.0, not in the first chapter, plots are made, secrets are shared, things are known</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:41:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>28,385</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23829214</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth_writes/pseuds/annabeth_writes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The dreams begin at a young age, plaguing Sansa's young mind nearly each night. After seeing a future where Jon lay dead, abandoned and betrayed in blood-stained snow, she confides in him. They draw closer together as the years pass and she dreams of more than just what may come. She sees what has happened before. Dangerous truths that change everything. As they draw ever closer, Jon and Sansa make a fateful decision that has lasting consequences.</p><p>In a single day, everything changes for House Stark. In a single day, everything changes for all of Westeros.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jon Snow/Sansa Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>short fic ideas that turned into long fics because I have no self control [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744813</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>151</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>638</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a rewrite of something that I posted a very long time ago. That has since been deleted because I was never quite satisfied. This is a much better version that will lead me to hopefully finish out the story with all that I have planned. As an added bonus, it's almost 3x longer than the original version.</p><p>I got the inspiration for this fic from Jaehaerys I and Queen Alysanne, who married very young to trick the people who were trying to decide their fates but waited for a few years to have a true marriage. Jon and Sansa are very much driven to take their fate in their own hands.</p><p>I will keep Sansa very close to her true characterization in this fic but due to her experiences, she will not be the exact same character. Much like being the three-eyed raven changed Bran, her dreams change her in a way. I write her very purposefully in this fic, so nothing is by accident.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The stone was almost unbearably cold beneath her bare feet, yet Sansa did not dare turn back for a pair of slippers. She had already come too far and there was every chance that shoes would make noise that her feet alone would not. No one could catch her wandering the castle at such an hour. It was a miracle that Arya didn’t awaken when she snuck out of their shared chamber, though her sister had always been a heavy sleeper.</p><p>Sansa listened with sharp ears for any noise that may signal an approaching chambermaid or watchful guard, breathing out the smallest sigh of relief when she reached her destination without trouble. As she closed her small fingers around the handle of the door, Sansa pushed slowly with her breath trapped in her throat, fearing that any loud creak would end her daring foray into a room that she couldn’t recall ever entering before.</p><p>She crept inside, shutting the door behind her and sliding the latch into place just to be certain. They weren’t allowed to bar their doors unless told but Sansa couldn’t take the chance that someone might step in. She knew that it may well get her half-brother in trouble but her mind was too tangled with ill thoughts to dwell on that now. As she tip-toed closer to the bed, she could see the shape of the boy atop it. He was burrowed deep beneath the furs, his head tilted to the side so that she could only see very little of his face.</p><p>The cold fear that clamped tight over her heart from the moment she woke eased at the sight of his chest rising and falling. A sudden rush of relief nearly drove her to her knees, much to her surprise. She never thought to care much for Jon Snow’s future. Not as she began to understand the cold looks her mother sent his way. Lady Catelyn Stark felt dishonored by his very presence and in a family and place that placed a very high importance on honor, Sansa felt duty-bound to follow her beloved mother’s lead with regards to her father’s bastard.</p><p>Now she could only see the figure in her horrible dream. Though he was older, his face had been unmistakable. Sansa wondered if she would see blood staining his night tunic if she peeled back the furs that covered him. Climbing carefully onto the bed, she gripped the furs in shaking hands and slowly pulled them lower, her heart beating quicker in her chest as she feared what she might see. This time, as she saw nothing but the unstained linen of his tunic, her sigh of relief was far louder. Unfortunately, quite unlike Arya, Jon was not a heavy sleeper.</p><p>His eyes flew open as soon as he became aware of her presence. As he shot up to sit, Jon peered at her through the darkness with a wide-eyed gaze. Sansa nearly toppled from the bed at his sudden movement, managing to catch herself before she tumbled to the ground. She fought the urge to chide him in her most haughty tone for startling her, realizing that she only had herself to blame for sneaking into his chambers in the first place, as he would likely remind her if she decided to scold him.</p><p>“What are you doing?” he said, sounding more confused than angry at the sight of her as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.</p><p>Sansa felt heat in her cheeks as she dropped her gaze to her lap, twisting the loose sleeves of her nightshift in her hands as she tried to summon the words to explain herself. Mortification nearly caused her to breathe out an apology and run from the room but Sansa somehow couldn’t bring herself to move. The sound of his breaths so near to her, steady and even in spite of his own fright, sounded quite like music to her ears. He was most certainly alive. There was nothing to fear.</p><p>“Sansa?” Jon asked.</p><p>She saw his hand reach out as if he would lift her chin as she’d seen him do so often with Arya but it retreated before he could come anywhere close. They rarely ever touched, so Sansa couldn’t blame him for not wanting to do it now. It would just feel odd, wouldn’t it?</p><p>“I had a bad dream,” Sansa admitted, hating how childish the words made her sound.</p><p>Though she was still a child, she reveled in every bit of praise she received, especially when she was told that she acted far older than her age. She hated to think that she might sound like the seven-year-old that she was, even now. She would much rather sound like her lady mother, who seemed as if she was rarely ever afraid. Sansa could tell that Jon was taken aback by her words and, once more, she could not fault him for such a reaction. She rarely had awful dreams and when she did, Sansa usually found herself seeking her mother or Robb for comfort. Never Jon. Not until now.</p><p>“It’s alright, Sansa,” Jon said, taking her by surprise as he reached out to tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s all over now. It was never real.”</p><p>Sansa knew that this is what he would do with Arya if she showed up in his bed, pale and shaking and on the verge of tears. She wondered if anything had ever scared her little sister quite this much and somehow knew the answer. Childish nightmares hardly ever seemed real. They were filled with fantastical horrors that didn’t truly exist and could easily be disproved by the patient voice of an adult or an older brother. This, however… this was different.</p><p>“I saw you,” she said, lifting her eyes to meet Jon’s once more.</p><p>Without quite meaning to, she reached out to clasp both of her hands around his, finding his skin to be delightfully warm beneath her own cool touch. Jon’s brow furrowed in a silent question as he allowed her to draw his hand into her lap.</p><p>“You weren’t like you are now,” she whispered in a trembling voice, her eyes flitting over his face. “You were older. You looked much like Father.”</p><p>Though Jon looked even more confused, something stirred in his eyes as the corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly.</p><p>“Was I a scary enough sight to send you running from your bed?” he teased her, though there was a wary edge to his voice as if he expected her to scold him for it.</p><p>Sansa couldn’t even think of propriety in that moment, shaking her head vehemently and making that small smile of his disappear at once. All she could see was the lingering dream, etched deep within her mind where she may never cut it away.</p><p>“I think that you were dead,” she said, her voice just barely above a whisper as if she could prevent such a fate by speaking as quietly as possible. “You were lying outside of a keep that I have never seen before. I couldn’t see it on your clothes. You were all in black, you see? But I could see it on the snow. I’ve seen white snow just after it falls and dirty snow when it’s been on the ground for too long but never red snow. Never that.”</p><p>She could see very little of the grey in his eyes as he stared at her, frozen in place by her words. Sansa knew that she was likely scaring him. No one would like to hear of their death, not even from the mouth of a child. Jon wasn’t that much older than herself, anyhow. Could ten namedays prepare someone for such a thing anymore than seven?</p><p>“It was all around you, Jon,” Sansa said, her hands gripping his own tighter between them.</p><p>“It was a dream,” he finally said, shaking himself from the spell she’d cast around them with her words. “Nothing more.”</p><p>She shivered, looking down at his hand where it was clasped between her own.</p><p>“I’ve never had a dream feel so real.”</p><p>A tear slipped down her cheek, though Sansa hadn’t even realized that they were gathering in her eyes. Before she knew it, Jon had her in his arms. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d embraced. They must have been quite young, for she had an excellent memory otherwise. He felt warm. So much warmer than she did, of that Sansa was certain. She felt like ice, melting in the warmth that Jon surrounded her with until her face was buried in his shoulder and her skinny arms were wrapped tightly around his waist, her fingers wound in his tunic to grip it tightly, an attempt to anchor herself in his embrace.</p><p>“I’m here, Sansa,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m right here.”</p><p>She let the words sink in, repeating them in her mind again and again.</p><p>
  <em> Jon is here. Jon is here. Jon is here. </em>
</p><p>Once she calmed enough to quit shaking, Jon quietly offered to walk her back to her chamber. For the briefest, oddest moment, Sansa nearly asked if she could stay right where she was. She trapped the words on her tongue before they could pass her lips, knowing what his answer would be. Nothing good would come of her being discovered in his bed come morning. Sansa would receive a scolding from her mother and Septa Mordane but that was nothing compared to the trouble that would come down on Jon for not getting her back to where she belonged as soon as she appeared in his bedchamber.</p><p>They crept through the corridors together, both bare of feet and watchful. Sansa gripped Jon’s arm tightly in her own, somehow fearing discovery even more now. She would hate herself for getting him in trouble when he’d been nothing but kind to her. As they reached her door, Jon seemed to relax before her very eyes, a sentiment that Sansa could not bring herself to share. The fear rose in her chest again as she saw him in her mind’s eye, his eyes staring blankly and his life’s blood seeping into the snow and staining it red.</p><p>Lifting her hand, she carefully placed it on his chest, directly over his heart so that she could feel its steady beat beneath her palm. Jon grew quite still, watching her warily as she counted the beats in her mind and found no irregularities. Looking up into his eyes, Sansa saw surprise and curious satisfaction lingering in their depths. Without thinking much about it, she pushed up on her toes to lay a quick kiss on his cheek. It was the least that she could offer him, for acting so kindly.</p><p>“Thank you. Jon,” she whispered, turning away from him before he could answer.</p><p>Sansa quickly yet quietly shut her door behind her, darting across her bedchamber and all but diving beneath her furs. Although she would happily leave that horrible dream far behind, Sansa knew that she would never wish this night didn’t happen. It felt right, to be so close to Jon even for such a short amount of time. She never expected to feel such a way about her half-brother and didn’t quite know what to do with such thoughts now. Sansa eventually drifted into a far more restful sleep, her mind still lingering on the tender concern in Jon’s eyes until unconsciousness took over and she slumbered quite peacefully.</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>Quite often, Jon found himself wondering how he was the only one who could tell when Sansa had a restless night. Though he was no older than two and ten, he could easily see her anxiously bitten lips and the darkness in her Tully eyes. She hadn’t climbed into his bed since that first night but he knew that poisoned dreams plagued her still. How it escaped the notice of her attentive mother and the ever mindful septa, he could not reason. All that he could do was voice his own concern, knowing it wasn’t up to him to bring Sansa’s burdens to the attention of those who cared little for him.</p><p>“What was it last night?” he always asked, his voice carefully low so that no one might hear him address his ladylike sister, even if it seemed that no one else was around.</p><p>“I wept in a strange place, all alone with no familiar faces around me,” Sansa told him, her words just as judged as his own. “I think that I was very far from here.”</p><p>A tremor of deep worry stood out in her voice. It was hardly what he expected, recalling all of those fanciful songs and stories that she loved.</p><p>“I thought you wanted to go south,” Jon said, voicing his confusion.</p><p>“Not like that,” Sansa said, shaking her head furiously as tears gathered in her eyes. “I felt so… lost.”</p><p>Jon wouldn’t always touch her. They never knew who could be watching. But sometimes he could give her hand or shoulder the occasional gentle squeeze, silently letting her know that she was not alone. A part of him relished in it. Knowing that he was the only one that Sansa shared these dreams with. Jon knew that he should feel guilty and pray before the heart tree that her nightly terrors might cease. But then, what would she need him, and him alone, for? Nothing else came to mind.</p><p>Jon knew that their interactions did not go unnoticed. He was careful to cross no lines, giving Lady Stark no reason to speak out against him. All he did was speak to her, a knit of concern forming between his brows as they walked alongside one another in the courtyard or bent their heads low to one another as they broke their fast in the mornings or readied themselves for lessons with Maester Luwin. Lord Stark looked more curious than suspicious. Robb and Theon thought little of it. Arya always seemed a little grumpier if she caught them at it but never said a word about it, as if she could pretend it wasn’t happening if she refused to acknowledge it.</p><p>“I saw a boy last night. He wore the colors of House Reed,” Sansa announced in a hushed voice one day, her hand laid ever-so-lightly in the crook of his elbow as he led them in a quick turn about the courtyard. “The dream felt different. I think…”</p><p>She trailed off, coloring rising in her cheeks as her eyes lowered to the ground.</p><p>“You think?” Jon encouraged her.</p><p>She glanced up at him, her bright eyes all too expressive. There was no hiding what she felt. Anyone could see her emotions plain as day, if they cared to look. Happiness made her eyes bright and her cheeks took on a delighted flush. Sadness drained the color from her face entirely and chapped her lips as she bit them to keep from letting tears fall. Anger darkened the blue of her eyes and the flush spread from her face to her chest and likely elsewhere on her pale skin, on spots hidden by her gowns. Hesitation made her eyes grow wide and her words tremble, as if she feared being taunted for whatever she may say.</p><p>“I think that it was real,” she admitted, almost quiet enough that Jon couldn’t hear.</p><p>No sooner had the confused frown formed on his face than she began to talk again in rushed, stuttering words.</p><p>“I know it sounds quite mad,” Sansa was quick to say, looking away from him. “If I heard anyone else say such a thing, I’d think they were touched in the head or listening to too many of Old Nan’s stories. But he spoke to me, Jon. He told me to beware the blood in the snow. I think… I think that the first dream was a warning. A caution of what may happen if I do not stop it.”</p><p>Jon felt a surge of guilt and discomfort as a bitter taste rose in his throat and tainted his mouth. All of nine namedays, an age at which she should worry for nothing apart from neat stitches and those beautiful songs that she treasured so much, and here his little sister was, carrying the burden of his death.</p><p>“I do not want you to dwell on that,” he mumbled, feeling quite shamed that he was stealing away his sister’s dwindling days of youth, even if it was unintentional.</p><p>Her eyes snapped back to his, boring into him so deep that Jon thought she might just be reaching his soul. Did she see how much he treasured these moments, fraught with tension as they were?</p><p>“Gods, Jon,” Sansa breathed out, stopping them in place near the stables. “How could I not?”</p><p>“You have better things to occupy your mind than your bastard brother,” Jon said, trying to urge her towards a safer path. “Sewing and dancing and…”</p><p>Her eyes darkened, her hand slipping from his arm.</p><p>“Do you think so little of me?” Sansa said in a low voice, tilting her head to the side in question. “I know that you laugh with Arya and the others when I want to play my silly little games. Bran is the only one who doesn’t. He-“</p><p>She cut off before saying another word, her eyes darting away from him. For a moment, Jon thought she might strike him for all the anger he saw in her eyes. Then her face hardened, taking on a new look that he hadn’t seen before. Everyone said that she was the most southern of them all but Sansa might as well have been made of ice for all she showed him as her eyes returned to his.</p><p>“Good day, Jon,” she said, bobbing a quick yet graceful curtsy that she certainly didn’t owe him. “I’ll not bother you again.”</p><p>With a flick of her hair and a twirl of her skirts, she marched away from him with the lightest of steps, leaving Jon to wonder where he went wrong.</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>Four days before Sansa’s tenth nameday celebration, bone-chilling screams cut through the air in the dead of night, waking nearly every member of the Stark family and a fair few of their servants. Jon was the first to reach her door, though he stepped aside dutifully when he heard Lord and Lady Stark approaching with rapid footsteps, Robb shadowing their every strep. His father held Ice in a grip so tight that his knuckles seemed white in the dim torchlight of the corridor. Catelyn rushes to Sansa’s bed as she twisted and cried beneath her furs, fighting invisible monsters with fists and tears.</p><p>Robb and Jon hovered in the doorway, with Bran pressed tight between them as Arya hunched in the shadows behind them as they watched Catelyn gather Sansa’s sobbing form into her chest while Lord Stark checked every corner of her chamber for a threat that wasn’t there. Only Jon knew that the true terrors lived in her mind. He felt overwhelmed with guilt. Should he have told them of her dreams before? Could they have done something to help her that he could not? Would it have prevented this? </p><p>“I saw fire raining down from the sky,” Sansa wailed, clutching tight at her mother’s dressing gown. “It burned through everything. Men dying and women screaming and-and the children…”</p><p>She choked off with another heaving sob, looking so small where she half lay in Lady Catelyn’s lap. Robb looked quite pale but Jon couldn’t see anything more with his eyes fixed firmly upon the ground.</p><p>“It was just a dream, my darling,” Catelyn murmured, stroking her hair as Ned reached out to rub the small back of the daughter that he least understood. “Nothing more than a dream. Sleep once more and you’ll find it slip from your mind like water through your fingers.”</p><p>Jon looked up suddenly, though he didn’t quite know why until he found Sansa’s eyes staring right into his. Her gaze burned him as searingly as the fire in her dream, silently communicating what they both knew. She held his gaze without flinching as she hadn’t done in several moons, since that day in the courtyard. There was none more truthful than Sansa and she kept to her word not to bother him, though he never saw their interactions as a bother at all. Jon saw the truth in her eyes now, just as he did then. Her words that day lingered in his mind, where he could not forget even if he’d tried. </p><p>
  <em> I think that it was real. </em>
</p><p>“Sleep now,” Lady Catelyn urged her, gently helping Sansa lie down and tucking the furs up to her chin. “I’ll stay with you for the night.”</p><p>She glanced over her shoulder, brief displeasure crossing her face when she saw Jon standing there before she gave her husband a nod.</p><p>“Come on.”</p><p>Lord Stark lifted Bran into his arms and took Arya by the hand, leading them out of Sansa’s chamber. Robb and Jon walked side-by-side, their chambers close together and further from the others.</p><p>“Fire raining down from the sky?” Robb mumbled once they were out of sight, looking so much like Sansa when his brow knitted together.</p><p>“Dragons,” Jon said quietly, somehow knowing exactly what haunted Sansa this night. “She dreamt of dragons.”</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>On Sansa’s tenth nameday, northern lords and ladies gathered to celebrate the eldest daughter of Winterfell. She relished in the attention, her smile a fixture upon her face as she received every gift and well wish with gracious acceptance. Her happiness was quite infectious and even the sternest of northern lords were not exempt from the certain shine that Sansa so easily brought to everyone’s eyes. She was adored by all, which in turn made Ned feel quite happy himself. Sometimes he feared that Sansa felt as out of place as her mother in these northern lands but moments like this reassured him that her Stark blood ran just as deep, no matter her southron looks.</p><p>When the feast ended and Sansa ate every lemoncake she could manage, half of the trestle tables were cleared to make way for dancers as the finest musicians that Ned could find began playing each of her favorite songs. Sansa allowed any man who offered their hand to escort her. Robb danced with her several times, their similar hair gleaming in the torchlight as they spun about the floor. Ned himself danced with her, relieved that her nightmare seemed well and truly forgotten. None could second guess her happiness, for it exuded from her very being.</p><p>After accepting a dance from a delighted Bran and a fair few of the lords and their sons. Sansa took a rest from the dancing and sipped at a cup of honey-sweetened milk as she watched others spin about the floor to a northern reel. Ned was quite distracted by Robb and Theon attempting to sneak another cup of wine, only to stop immediately at his stern look, and didn’t see what made his lady wife gasp at his side until he looked out to the hall once more. Oddly enough, Sansa was in the midst of coaxing a very reluctant Jon out with both of her hands grasping his and a pleading look upon her face.</p><p>Ned had certainly noticed the change over the past several years, though he felt none of the concern that his wife did. Catelyn didn’t voice her worries, but he could see that they existed nonetheless. She never forgave Jon’s presence in Winterfell and he knew very well where the fault lay and it was not in her hands. A part of Ned, growing bigger with every passing day, wished that he might have trusted his young wife more, enough to confide in her the truth of Jon’s birth.</p><p>Yet he forced himself to remember that it wasn’t all a matter of trust, but of safety. The less people who knew the truth, the less likely it would be that Robert ever discovered what truly happened between Lyanna and Rhaegar. Ned would always remember the promise that he made his beautiful, wild sister and he would keep to it. It burdened him that Cat felt such animosity towards the innocent lad, made no better by the fact that her precious daughter, so like her in all else, seemed to care for him just as much as their other children.</p><p>To his utter surprise, Jon relented to Sansa’s urging with the slightest of smiles on his face. It was a simple enough dance and Ned suspected that such a choice was deliberate on Sansa’s part. She had the particular ability to orchestrate situations to her liking. Though she was the sweetest of girls, and a perfect lady in every way, Ned suspected that she would be a formidable force when she grew into a lady of her own standing and fit into the role of a wife and lady of her husband’s keep. An odd feeling stirred in his chest as he watched them dance, color high in Sansa’s cheeks and Jon’s own face flushed ever so slightly.</p><p>Anyone else might be forgiven if they looked twice at the pairing. Ned himself had to blink several times to rid himself of a memory so long ago. Of his own wedding feast, Catelyn so lovely and young in his arms as he stiffly led her through the first dance. Jon and Sansa were far younger but with her red hair shining in the firelight and his dark northern looks, a contrast to his long-deceased father in every way, they were a near copy of the Lord and Lady of Winterfell. Leaning back in his chair, Ned rubbed at his jaw and considered them for a long moment. His mind drifted to the night that Sansa’s screams woke them all.</p><p>He hadn't given it another thought until now, that Jon was the first to arrive at her door, even though his room was the furthest from Sansa’s. In his mind, it simply spoke to the inherent goodness of the boy. It was a comfort to Ned, who always feared seeing shades of Rhaegar Targaryen or, even worse, the Mad King in his nephew. Ned thought he might have seen Sansa’s eyes seek out Jon’s where she curled into her mother’s arms, but he couldn’t be certain then.</p><p>Now…</p><p>Now his doubts grew with every passing moment as Sansa laughter filled the air and Jon’s smile grew.</p><p>They complemented one another well, there was no denying that. Such a thought never occurred to him before and he felt the strangest sensation of worry rising within him. There was no true cause for concern.  Sansa stood no closer to Jon than she did to Robb and even if she did, they were young and innocent. There was no intent in their actions. No hidden motives. They were children. Brother and sister, for all anyone knew. Yet he could not help but worry if a man’s nature was not so easily subverted. If a father that Jon would never know managed to pass onto him a rebellious spirit. A love for unattainable women. Even more, he wondered if Sansa possessed a hint of wolf blood after all. For the smile upon her face made her look more like Lyanna than he’d ever seen before. There was no true reason to worry, but Ned did so all the same.</p><p>
  <strong>*</strong>
</p><p>Sansa and Jon may as well have been dancing in a room alone, for all the attention they paid to their surroundings. She managed to keep his eyes on hers, rather than on his feet, and he managed to avoid treading on her toes by some miracle. With every smile that she gifted him, Jon felt his heart grow lighter and lighter. The heaviness of her nightmare and the months of strife between them seemed to fade away as they danced.</p><p>“Forgive me,” he said quite suddenly, earning a questioning look. “For the words I spoke that day. I do not think little of you at all, Sansa.”</p><p>Sansa’s gaze reflected her understanding as she twirled beneath his arm, fiery tendrils of hair flying out to  brush over his dark jerkin, before grasping both of his hands in hers.</p><p>“I know,” she said, looking into his eyes without hesitation.</p><p>Jon didn’t know what to say to that. If his words didn’t upset her, then what had he done to make her flee and avoid him all this time?</p><p>“I suppose it is silly,” Sansa said, her eyes drifting over his shoulder as if she couldn’t quite meet his own now. “To want you to think well of me. You prefer Robb and Arya. I can understand that. I know that I am not the preferable choice of companion for a boy so near to being a man.”</p><p>Jon balked at her words, finding fault in nearly everything that she said. At nearly four and ten, he did not feel close to being a man at all. He considered all those he knew. Lord Stark, Uncle Benjen, Ser Rodrick. Greatjon Umber, his voice as loud and boisterous as ever as it carried across the room. Jon felt as far from them as he could be. Even Robb seemed closer to manhood that him, though that may have been the way his brother carried himself. The future Lord of Winterfell walked about with such confidence that Jon envied, wishing that he could be so certain of his future. Manhood frightened him in a way that he would never admit.</p><p>“I <em> do </em>think well of you,” Jon said, pushing such thoughts and fears to the darkest corners of his mind.</p><p>Sansa gifted him with yet another brilliant smile that warmed his chest. It was easy to be drawn in by her radiance. Jon heard the talk through the castle. Everyone predicted that she would grow into a great beauty, some even saying that she would be more lovely than her mother.</p><p>“Well I <em> am </em> the Jewel of the North,” Sansa said with an air of amused confidence, lifting her chin as she spun about. “Lord Halys Hornwood told me so himself.”</p><p>“How kind of such a lady, to permit a lowly bastard to dance with her.”</p><p>Jon meant the words to have a teasing lilt, much like he might speak to Arya. He was as surprised as Sansa at the dark edge they took on. Her smile faltered ever so slightly and she stilled place, caring little for the music and dancers all around him as she met his eyes quite seriously. She looked more grave than he’d ever seen before.</p><p>“I think the world of you, Jon,” Sansa whispered, her words meant for him and him alone.</p><p>A great secret. Perhaps the greatest he’d heard. Certainly one that he would keep close to his heart. He could not speak even if he had the words to answer her. Neither of them were aware of the eyes upon them as he offered his arm and she took it willingly, allowing him to guide her away from the dancers where they could speak with bowed heads and soft smiles until Robb interrupted to present her with another treasured lemon cake. Sansa accepted it with a delighted exclamation, quite determined to wring every bit of happiness and satisfaction from her celebration.</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>“She is too young,” Catelyn argued as she stood before the desk in his solar. “It is far too soon to consider marriage petitions. We haven’t even done so for Robb.”</p><p>Ned sighed, putting aside the letters that he’d been considering.</p><p>“It is not unheard of,” he said, meeting his wife’s alarmed gaze. “Lyanna was betrothed to Robert at ten.”</p><p>Catelyn dropped her hands, a displeased look crossing her face. He knew it was not a good comparison, yet it was all that he had to offer.</p><p>“Girls in the North are often betrothed before their brothers. it does not mean that she will be married immediately. We will have a few years yet to prepare ourselves,” he assured her, rising to his feet.</p><p>She watched warily as he rounded the desk to take her hands in his own.</p><p>“Sansa would thrive in the south,” Catelyn said reluctantly, glancing to the letters before looking back at him. “But I do not want her to go so far.”</p><p>“Nor do I,” Ned said, refusing to think of sending one of his children so far if he could help it.</p><p>A good northern house would do. Close enough that they could call upon their daughter and her husband to visit but far enough that his fears could be assuaged. For six moons had done nothing to ease his worries. Sansa and Jon seemed to grow closer with every day that passed, some secret connection drawing them to one another.</p><p>He found himself on the edge of questioning them many times, wanting to know exactly what changed. Yet Ned somehow knew that they would evade his queries. Even Robb and Arya seemed confused by it and he’d heard of how his younger daughter’s frustration boiled over, each scathing word aimed at her sister causing more shouting fights between the girls than he could count.</p><p>“Let us look, then,” Catelyn said, reaching out to gather the letters. “We shall decide on a proper suitor for our daughter together.”</p><p>Ned did not challenge her in this, knowing that she would want a good match as much as he did. He could only hope that this solved the unspoken problem. For he did not know what else to do.</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>A gasping sob filled Jon’s bedchamber, drawing him from sleep much like a similar night all those years ago. He barely managed to sit up beneath his furs before something collided with him. He barely managed to catch himself from being flung to his back once more, one hand bracing on the bed as the other unconsciously wrapped around the waist of the near-hysterical form that pressed herself as close as she could get. The sweet smell of her loose hair both identified her and distracted him in his sleep-addled state. </p><p>“Oh Jon,” Sansa whimpered in his neck, her tears wetting his skin.</p><p>“What is it?” he said, knowing already that it had happened again.</p><p>She clung to him tighter, her blunted nails scraping over his back as if she sought to grip a sleep tunic that he did not wear. The older he got, the more unbearable it seemed to wear such heavy clothes as he slept. His body burned with heat and sweat-soaked into his linens each night. He dismissed it as an inherited trait, knowing that his father couldn’t sleep without a window open each night.</p><p>He simply must have been hot-blooded too. Another thing that connected him to his father, even if Jon couldn’t call him that like his siblings. Jon flushed as he realized the impropriety of the situation. Sansa aged closer to a lady every day, at two and ten, and their father would have any other man’s hands for touching her like this. Even if she was his sister, it simply wasn’t proper.</p><p><em> There’s a lot of things that aren’t proper, </em> a voice whispered in the depths of his mind. <em> A bastard to the very core, are you not? Why else might you take notice of your sister’s beauty so often? </em></p><p>Jon nudged away the hissing voice and the self-hatred that permeated his thoughts lately. More often still when he looked at Sansa. She shuddered in his arms, leaning away just enough to lift her eyes to his. There was such a deep misery in their depths, an overwhelming sadness that nearly made him cry at the very sight of it. What could make her feel such a thing? Did she see his death again? Was it made more certain by the passage of time?</p><p>Sansa’s eyes drifted over his face, almost as if she was seeing him anew. She studied every part of him, her hand lifting to press over his cheek. He fought the heart-wrenching temptation to lean into her touch, knowing it would only make him out to be more base than he already was. Sansa traced the line of his jaw with her thumb, leaning even closer as she stared into his eyes. Jon didn’t know what she was trying to see, though there was enough strangeness to her actions that he felt as if he was missing something altogether important.</p><p>“Sansa,” he said in warning, releasing her waist and guiding her back until there was a respectable distance between them.</p><p>She sank her teeth into her lower lip, her eyes dropping ashamedly as if she realized the impropriety of her own actions. Jon leaned over the side of the bed, snatching up his discarded tunic to pull over his head, thankful that he cared little for the mess he made at night. When he looked at her again, she’d wiped the tears from her cheeks, though she still studied him with that strange glint in her eyes. Jon looked at her expectantly, content to wait until she was ready to speak. Sometimes it took quite a few minutes for her to work up the courage to relay her dreams to him.</p><p>“I saw her,” Sansa said, twisting her hands in the sleeves of her nightgown as she used to do when she was younger.</p><p>It took a long few moments for Jon to catch the meaning of her words. When he did, he felt as if his heart would beat right out of his chest and feared that his evening meal might make a reappearance. There was only one <em> her </em> that would have any meaning for the two of them. For anyone in the Stark family. Only one mysterious face that haunted them. Jon most of all.</p><p>“How?” he said, his voice coming out in a strangled gasp.</p><p>She inhaled shakily, drawing her knees to her chest.</p><p>“How do I see any of it?” Sansa said quietly, wrapping her arms around her legs.</p><p>Jon stared at her silently, willing her to say more and resisting the urge to grasp her shoulders and shake her until she spoke a name.</p><p>“She was so lovely, Jon,” Sansa said, her voice wistful as she stared off at nothing at all. “You look so much like her.”</p><p>He frowned at her words that made so little sense. His looks came from the North. From House Stark. Of all Lord Stark’s son, he looked the most like him. A cruel joke from the gods, perhaps. To make the bastard son look so like the man who would never pass his title down onto him. How then could he have inherited his look from his mother?</p><p>“I saw her in a field of green. She rode a horse well, just like Arya. And she held a sword, Jon. Can you believe it?” Sansa said, her eyes lighting up ever so slightly.</p><p>His chest ached at her words. A part of him wanted to cover his ears and shout for her to stop. The bigger part of him wanted to soak up every word that she spoke. To hear her speak without end. He was starving for such words. The only ones he may ever hear about the woman who birthed him, since Lord Stark seemed less than willing to share his memories. Sansa’s gaze grew sad again, tears welling in her eyes once more.</p><p>“I saw her in a bed,” she said, her voice almost too quiet. “The colors were so bright. Bloodied sheets and blue roses.”</p><p>“What are you-” Jon stopped with a sharp inhale of realization. “She died, didn’t she? She died bringing me into the world?”</p><p>Sansa nodded warily, looking pained at how his face twisted with anguish and his hands formed fists upon his lap. Jon wanted to howl out his pain. To let the world know that he felt it deep within him. He always held out hope that he might one day know her. That a woman who loved him more than anything in the world might take him in her arms and comb her fingers through his hair, whispering that she would never leave him again. Now such dreams were impossible. He would never know a mother’s love.</p><p>“Why wouldn’t he tell me?” Jon choked out, anger almost overtaking the sadness.</p><p>“He promised,” Sansa said, her voice far off once more. “She begged him and he promised.”</p><p>He stared at her, latching onto the blue of her eyes to ground him there. Jon feared that he would drift away into his pain if he did not cling to her, even if he couldn’t touch her. Something nudged his mind. A detail hidden in her odd words.</p><p>“Why blue roses?” Jon asked, bringing her gaze back to him. “Was she from the North?”</p><p>Sansa nodded once more, almost looking as if she wanted to flee. Jon’s hand shot out before she could, desperate to know everything that she did.</p><p>“Her name?” he demanded, clasping his fingers around her wrist, gentle yet firm enough to keep her close. “Do you know it?”</p><p>“Jon,” Sansa breathed out, shaking her head. “You don’t understand.”</p><p>“What?” he hissed out, the rage in his chest growing hotter.</p><p>He wasn’t angry with her. Jon only wanted to know. Why wouldn’t she tell him? Did she seek to lie, just like their father?</p><p>“What don’t I understand?”</p><p>“It will break your heart,” Sansa sobbed, though she made no move to pull away.</p><p>She inched closer to him, putting her free hand on his cheek once more.</p><p>“Tell me,” Jon said desperately, his voice losing all heat. “Please.”</p><p>He sounded like the lost child that he had always been. The boy that yearned for a mother’s love.</p><p>“It won’t be the same,” Sansa said, her voice hitching as tears slipped down her cheeks.</p><p>“Say it,” he pleaded.</p><p>She closed her eyes, the fight draining from her body as she let out a deep sigh.</p><p>“Lyanna Stark.”</p><p>Jon released her and flinched away as if he’d been burned. Sansa opened her eyes, watching as his own darted this way and that, trying to make sense of her words.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>The word lingered in the air between them. A refusal. A denial. A plea.</p><p>“No,” Jon said again, hurrying to get away from her.</p><p>“Jon, wait,” Sansa reached for him but he moved out of reach.</p><p>“You’re wrong,” he denied, shaking his head.</p><p>Sansa knelt in the middle of his bed, watching as he paced the length of the room and tugged on his already messy hair.</p><p>“Your mother is Lyanna Stark.” she reaffirmed, knowing beyond any doubt that this was true.</p><p>The boy in green and grey came to her more often, telling her not to doubt her dreams. Warning her that horrors may yet come for House Stark and the North if she did nothing to change it.</p><p>“Stop,” Jon said through gritted teeth, shooting her a warning look that did nothing to dissuade her.</p><p>He had to understand. He had to see the danger. To know why their father lied.</p><p>“Your mother is Lyanna Stark,” Sansa said for a third time, her voice growing stronger. “And your father is Rhaegar Targaryen.”</p><p>Jon stilled in place, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His face as pale as she’d ever seen it. His lips parted in shock. Then his legs gave way, his knees thudding painfully on the stone beneath him. Sansa moved as quickly as she could, and rather ungracefully at that, scrambling from the bed as he pressed tightly closed fists against his eyes, trembling as he suppressed the anguished yell that rose in his throat. She threw herself to the ground behind him, slipping her arms around his waist and pressing her forehead between his shoulder blades.</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” she cried.</p><p>Sansa wept for him, her tears soaking into his tunic. She wept for his pain. For the loss of a life he would never have. For a mother and father he would never know. For the lies her father crafted as a wall of protection around him. They all knew what happened to poor Elia Martell’s children. Killed for the crime of Targaryen blood. Jon would have joined them, if the king knew the truth. Doubly marked for death by the incident of his birth as well as the history between Robert Baratheon and his mother. The king could not look past such a thing. Not even for a man that was as good as his brother.</p><p>Jon slumped in her arms as the weight of the truth bore down on him. Sansa did not dare to move, letting him arrange himself however he wished. It shouldn’t have been her. He deserved a better way. A more soothing revelation. Not this. Her stumbling words had little kindness, no matter what she intended. But it had to be done. He had to know. It had to be different. She stroked his hair away from his face as his head found her lap. She said nothing as tears dripped onto her nightshift. He cried silently, gripping her skirts as if he feared she would disappear.</p><p>Sansa feared what the dawn may bring. She was still so young, for someone with all of this knowledge in her mind. For all that she had seen in her dreams. She had no way of knowing how such truth would affect their lives. Would Jon tell her father what he knew? Would she have to explain that her dreams were not just dreams? Would they even believe her? They would have to, wouldn’t they? If she told her father that she knew what really happened with Aunt Lyanna and the prince. How else would she know? Though she was young, and she did not know what would happen tomorrow, there was something that Sansa knew for certain.</p><p>Nothing would ever be the same.</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>When a red-faced Septa Mordane met him as he stepped out of the Great Hall, weary from hours of petitions from noblemen and commonfolk alike, Ned could not help but let out a sigh. He appreciated the woman for all she did. He certainly couldn’t have the patience for teaching the castle’s young women about things such as embroidery, dancing, and other wifely pursuits. But he heard her complaints so often that it had begun to feel quite repetitive.</p><p>“What has Arya done now?” he asked.</p><p>The woman tilted her chin up, inhaling deeply before a pained look crossed her face. She almost seemed reluctant to speak, which was odd. Usually the septa was all too ready to see Arya punished for her behavior, or lack thereof.</p><p>“It was not Arya, my lord,” she said, bowing her head.</p><p>His eyes grew wide with surprise. Ned couldn’t remember the last time that Sansa gave Septa Mordane trouble, if she’d ever done so.</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>“Your daughters were working on their stitching under my supervision along with Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel. Those girls can be rather silly sometimes, but I always set them straight if they overstep, my lord,” Septa Mordane assured him, as if she felt the need to convince him that she was quite capable of her duties. “I saw no harm in what they were saying until Sansa reacted rather... strongly.”</p><p>Ned gave her an impatient look, waiting to hear exactly what upset his elder daughter so much that it brought the septa running straight to him.</p><p>“They spoke of the young lord, Daryn Hornwood,” Septa Mordane said warily.</p><p>It was all that he had to hear. As soon as news of the Hornwoods and their impending visit spread through the castle, people began whispering of their intent. Especially when they learned that the future Lord of the Hornwood would accompany his father. Catelyn counseled him that they should speak to Sansa before the rumors reached her ears but it seemed that they were already too late.</p><p>“She shouted quite rudely at the two girls with no trace of the lady I know in her demeanor. I gave her a sharp reprimand but she did not apologize. She then ran from the room, my lord, giving no care for her lessons or my attempts to call her back.”</p><p>Ned reached up, pinching at his nose before nodding his head, knowing that this was partially his own fault.</p><p>“Where is she?”</p><p>“The godswood, I believe,” Septa Mordane said, stepping aside so that he could pass her.</p><p>He ignored her curtsy and commanded that she let him attend to his daughter alone, striding forward with determination in every step. Ned knew that Catelyn wanted to be there when Sansa learned the truth but this was simply something that he had to explain. There was no time to ease their way into it. Not when she already knew. Not when she reacted so strongly to the news.</p><p>Perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised him that she wasn’t alone in the godswood yet he still drew up short at the sight of Jon’s arms wrapped protectively around her, her face buried in his shoulder. The boy’s head lifted at the sound of Ned approaching and something flitted across his face. A mix of emotions. Anger. Annoyance. Guilt. Defensiveness. Blame.</p><p>“What is the meaning of this?” Ned asked, keeping his voice as steady and gentle as he could manage for the sake of his usually soft-hearted daughter.</p><p>Sansa pulled away from Jon with a gasp, looking at him with glassy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. Her lips parted as she glanced from him to Jon and back before pulling away and smoothing out her skirts that were quite wrinkled from her flight.</p><p>“Father,” she said in a voice just barely above a whisper, sinking into a curtsy.</p><p>“Lord Stark,” Jon said gravely yet steadily, bowing to him.</p><p>“You should be in the training yard, Jon,” Ned said, moving closer to them. “And you should be in your lessons with your septa.”</p><p>Sansa stared at him for a long moment and Ned had the sudden sense that she was taking his measure before her eyes narrowed. She looked nothing like their sweet-tempered girl in that moment. She looked like her mother when Catelyn was on the verge of giving into that fiery Tully temper. Sansa knew exactly why he was there and what he knew.</p><p>“You should have told me of my betrothal,” she said, the words passing her lips in a quick rush.</p><p>Just as quickly as her ire rose, her face drained of color and she glanced away from him nervously, realizing that she’d erred in speaking so plainly with her father. Ned could not quite believe it himself, staring at her with no words upon his lips. He truly could not think of what to say.</p><p>“Sansa-” Jon said quietly, his hand lifting to clasp around her arm.</p><p>Her eyes darted to him and the color returned to her cheeks just as quickly.</p><p>“He’s lied to us,” Sansa hissed, just loud enough that Ned could hear. “All these years, he’s...”</p><p>She trailed off at the cutting look that Jon gave her, as if remembering where she stood and who stood there with her. They both looked his way, a similar expression of alarm on their faces. Ned stepped closer to them, his heart racing not with anger, but with fear. They could not know. There was no chance of it. Did she refer to the betrothal? It was a lie of omission, if anything, and had little to do with Jon at all. At least on the outside. No one else knew of the fears that Ned carried close to his heart.</p><p>“What do you mean by that, Sansa?” Ned asked, his voice low and tight.</p><p>She stared at him warily, fear flitting through her eyes as she wrung her hands together nervously.</p><p>“I-I had a dream,” Sansa admitted hesitantly, glancing to Jon.</p><p>The boy looked almost ready to run, as if this was far from what he wanted.</p><p>“A dream?” Ned repeated, glancing between them.</p><p>She nodded slowly, her eyes darting around as if she sought her own escape. Nearly three and ten and she had never looked so fearful in the presence of her father. It was as if she bore the weight of the world in that moment. Ned hated seeing such a burden upon her, though he suspected the nature of it. In the back of his mind, he recalled that night. Her screams. How she looked at Jon. How he stared back at her, a knowing glint in his Stark grey eyes.</p><p>
  <em> I saw fire raining down from the sky. It burned through everything. </em>
</p><p>“Many dreams, in truth,” Sansa said, rubbing her thumb nervously over the palm of her opposite hand. “For years now.”</p><p>Ned simply raised his eyebrows, waiting to hear her purpose for telling him so.</p><p>“I see a boy, sometimes,” she said, her eyes closing for a moment as if she envisioned the dream in her mind. “He wears grey and green, the colors of House Reed.”</p><p>Ned inhaled sharply at the house name, almost able to smell the blood clinging to the air. The feel of a sword in his hand. Howland Reed at his side, vowing to keep the day’s events to himself.</p><p>“Other times I see… other things,” Sansa said, looking at Jon.</p><p>He gave her the smallest of nods and Ned suddenly understood without having to hear either of them speak it. She’d confided in Jon. Finally, an explanation for their closeness, and a sensible one at that. Sansa shared little confidence with her sister, due to their animosity, and she likely wouldn’t find comfort in Robb, who would most likely offer no more than a teasing comment and a ruffle of her hair. If he knew Sansa as he thought he might, she certainly wouldn’t burden her younger brothers with such dreams.</p><p>So that left Jon. Quiet Jon. Serious Jon. Someone who would certainly listen with grave solemnity, letting her speak of her dreams and allowing her the comfort of belief. But there were things that Ned still did not understand. Why would she not go to Cat, when they were so close? How long had she been having such dreams? Years gave him no answer. Did they truly fail to see that their eldest daughter was so burdened by her nights? How many times did Jon comfort her in the wake of nightmares when her own mother and father failed to see what was happening to her? And what lie did they discover?</p><p>Ned realized that neither Sansa nor Jon were speaking, but rather that their gazes were locked on one another in silent conversation. Clearing his throat did little to distract them. Ned felt as if he was an outsider intruding on a private moment, a realization which made him feel even more uncomfortable and concerned. He should have known. He should have seen. It would be so hard now, to sever such a bond in two. Ned regretted the idea of it already, not wanting to cut away the happiness and comfort that they found in their curious companionship.</p><p>“I saw everything, Father,” Sansa finally said, turning her head to fix him with a hard look that did not belong on her young face. “I know about Aunt Lyanna and so does Jon.”</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>Ned sat before the fire in his solar, head in his hands as he grappled with everything that happened that day. His daughter, receiving prophetic dreams at seven namedays that told her more of the past than the future. His nephew, aware of his true parentage for months. The one secret that Ned tried to keep, laid out in the open between Sansa and Jon and yet never spoken to anyone else. It explained everything. He could not blame his daughter for telling Jon. What else was she meant to do? Keep such a burden to herself at such a young age? Jon bothered him even more. The boy knew all that time that Ned deceived the entire world, including him. Was it any wonder that he sought comfort in the sister that told him the truth?</p><p>No, not sister.</p><p>Cousin.</p><p>Their knowledge of that particular truth concerned him even more. The closeness between them could not be so easily dismissed, even if they were still young. He could remember his older brother at that age. Headstrong and wild. Refusing to bend to the will of others, even his own father. And Lyanna, beautiful and willful. Incredibly protective of those she deemed worthy of it. And Rhaegar, willing to tear apart all seven kingdoms for his love.</p><p>Would his son do anything less for his own?</p><p>Ned knew that he could not alter his path. Though Sansa and Jon knew the truth, he could not encourage what brewed between them. The defiance it fostered. The danger. He would have to speak to them, though they seemed to understand the gravity of the truth without his interference. They hadn’t told any other, in all the months that they knew. Yet Ned would have to do what it took to protect the both of them. Jon would remain a Snow and Sansa would one day be known as Lady Hornwood. He knew that it was necessary. He knew that it must happen and soon.</p><p>Very soon.</p><p>Before either of them did something as reckless as the Starks who came before them.</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>“I do not want to marry Daryn Hornwood.”</p><p>Jon watched every step that she took from where he sat on the edge of his bed, his eyes drifting over her hair, plaited loosely into a braid over her shoulder, and the lace-trimmed shawl draped about her shoulders. She paced back and forth in front of the fire in his hearth, chewing on already bitten lips and letting her displeasure be known in the agitation in her eyes and downturn of her lips.</p><p>“An agreement hasn’t been settled yet,” Jon reminded her, though he had to force levity into his own voice.</p><p>Sansa gave him a look, rolling her eyes as if she was quite simply exasperated with him. She may have changed in many ways, more tempered by the dreams she had, but she would always be Sansa. Jon knew, though he would never admit it aloud, that he wouldn’t have her any other way. A girl who could cut deeper with words and looks than any blade yet she could talk sweeter than anyone he’d ever met. Both skills had been put to use during the Hornwoods’ visit. Now that they were gone, he was the only one she would speak to thus. No one else had her confidence. Not like he did.</p><p><em> Something that pleases you more than it should </em>, that hissing voice spoke out in his mind.</p><p>“It’s only a matter of time,” Sansa said, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. “Father is only holding back because of my mother. She doesn’t want me wed as young as she was, though they’ve been happy enough.”</p><p>Jon may not have seen eye-to-eye with Lady Catelyn on most things, though they certainly agreed on this. Though he suspected that she wasn’t quite as keen on never seeing Sansa married as he was. Jon already resented the day that he would have to watch her kneel at the side of the man that would take her away. Though he felt less guilty at such thoughts, knowing that he was not her brother, Jon knew that he should not let them linger in his mind lest they affect his deeds.</p><p>“You would rather save yourself for a man of the south, wouldn’t you?” Jon asked, forcing a smile onto his face. “A lordling draped in silks and perfumes to whisk you away into a castle filled with colorful gowns and pleasant music and flowering gardens?”</p><p>Sansa stopped in place, hovering there in stillness for a stretch of tense silence before she turned towards him with a curious glint in her eyes.</p><p>“You sound rather passionate at the thought, Jon,” she said, letting him know that his words hadn’t been as light as he intended. “Is it you that wants to marry a southern lord?”</p><p>Jon let out a derisive laugh, able to appreciate the hints of humor that she displayed so very rarely.</p><p>“That is far from what I want, Lady Sansa,” he assured her.</p><p>Sansa tilted her head to the side, that strange look still present in her eyes.</p><p>“Then what is it that you do want?” she asked. </p><p>Jon eyed her as she sat primly beside him, as proper a lady as ever aside from the fact that they were alone in his chamber late into the night without anyone’s knowledge. He could smell the perfumed oil that she dabbed on her skin and the sweet-scented soap that she used in her hair. All of it so deeply part of Sansa in his mind that he would never smell either without thinking of her first.</p><p>“Bastards are rarely given leave to want things,” Jon reminded her.</p><p>Sansa let out a long sigh, looking away from him with pursed lips. He could tell where her thoughts led her in the wake of his words. Though he may be the bastard of a prince, a bastard was still a bastard. Especially when they could count the number of people who knew about his parentage on one hand.</p><p>“No family for you then, cousin?” she asked after a moment, giving him a curious look before turning her face away again.</p><p>His heart skipped at her words. Sansa began making the distinction, if only in private, very soon after they discovered the truth of his birth. Jon always felt as if it meant something, though he could never know for certain.</p><p>“Who would have me?” he asked, looking away from her as well.</p><p>The words hung in the air between them, seemingly thickening the air in the room. Jon cast a look towards the windows, wishing that he’d thought to open them. Maybe he could breathe a little easier.</p><p>
  <em> Or maybe you should watch your words, Snow. </em>
</p><p>His eyes were drawn to Sansa as she moved. Her hand lifted from her lap, hovering in the air as her fingers trembled ever-so-slightly. Then she reached out, braving the short distance between them to touch her hand to his where it lay on his knee. She carefully turned his hand until his palm faced up, her fingertips trailing over the ridges and calluses before slowly, oh so slowly, lacing her fingers with his own. It was almost torturous, the feel of her small hand entwined with his own. Jon’s heart ached painfully in such a satisfying way that he could not name.</p><p>“Sansa,” he whispered, his own voice shaking.</p><p>“I would,” she said quietly, before he could ruin it.</p><p>Sansa lifted her eyes to his face, swallowing hard at whatever she saw in his gaze.</p><p>“I would have you.”</p><p>Jon stared at her, something stirring in his chest. A feeling like he’d never experienced before. A beast rearing its head, roaring deep within him. Jon wrenched his hand from hers, standing abruptly to cross the room. He could not think. Could not breathe.</p><p>“You cannot say such things, Sansa,” he said, fumbling with the latch on the window before pushing it open.</p><p>Jon breathed in the cold air greedily, letting it fill his mind and clear it of her scent.</p><p>“I would,” Sansa said again, a rustling sound warning him of her approach. “There is no shame in it. You know what we are to one another.”</p><p>He spun about, startling her with the quick movement. Her hand was pressed over her heart and Jon wondered if it beat as quickly as his own.</p><p>“Aye,” Jon said, a part of him marveling at the jut of her chin and the stubborn light in her eyes. “And who else does?”</p><p>Sansa grew silent, turning her face away. He hated to speak to her this way. To force her back into reality when he wanted nothing more than to jump into that fantasy with both feet. But she had to see sense. She had to know that it was impossible. Jon crossed the distance between them, lifting his hand to her cheek.</p><p>“I would have you, sweet Sansa,” Jon said, his voice as soft as he could manage as she leaned her face into his hand. “Perhaps there is another world, a better world, where I can. But in this one…”</p><p>He trailed off, knowing that she did not need to hear it from his mouth to know the truth of their situation. When she parted her lips to speak, Jon inwardly pleaded for her acceptance. He counted himself as a weak boy, when it came to the girl that stood before him. His resolve wouldn’t withstand much if she launched attacks against it. Jon needed her mercy, but she was as much a wolf as any of them. She had her teeth and her claws, and she was so good at using them.</p><p>“We could marry.”</p><p>Jon’s hand dropped from her face in an instant, his eyes slipping closed as he inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. Sansa’s soft hands cupped his face, her thumbs tracing over his cheeks.</p><p>“We could, Jon,” she whispered, needing no one to hear but him.</p><p>Not even the walls of Winterfell could know of what they spoke. There was danger here. Danger and temptation.</p><p>“Sansa,” he said, shaking his head.</p><p>“Think about it,” she urged him, a smile in her voice.</p><p>Jon opened his eyes and stepped away from her, holding his hands out to keep her at a distance.</p><p>“You are too young.”</p><p>Her bright eyes hardened to ice, her lips thinning. Jon would rather face live steel in the yard a thousand times before seeing this look aimed his way, and yet he did not bend.</p><p>“I <em> will </em> be married,” Sansa said, her voice equally hard.</p><p>“Not for a number of years,” Jon said, turning away so that he could gather his strength.</p><p>He would have to send her out of his chambers. It would be difficult. Hurtful. Terrible. But Jon could see no other way. Before he could give her his back, Sansa’s hand closed around his arm and she yanked him around to face her once more with a strength that surprised him.</p><p>“Why do you think that I’ve been having these dreams?” she demanded, her voice hushed yet forceful. “Do you dismiss it as a coincidence that they began with you? That they’ve guided us towards one another? That they’ve led us here, to this very moment?”</p><p>Jon stared at her speechlessly. He had no answer to her questions. In truth, he thought about it quite a lot. Many of Sansa’s dreams could be tied together. His death, something to be avoided. His parentage, something to be known. Dragonfire, when he himself was born of a dragon.</p><p>“None of this would have happened without my dreams,” Sansa said tiredly, releasing him and stepping away as if she could not bear to be so close. “You wouldn’t know the truth. We would likely be strangers to one another. How do you think it all changed? Who made it this way?”</p><p>“The gods,” Jon said, no trace of doubt in his mind.</p><p>Sansa nodded, a somber look passing over her face. He’d seen it before. The way she carried herself, so unlike the girls that served as her companions. She seemed more woman than girl, though they saw her thirteenth nameday only two turns of the moon ago. Jon knew that it was the dreams. He wondered what she might be like without them. What might have become of them if she never had that first dream of him lying in the snow, surrounded by blood.</p><p>“Look me in the eyes and tell me that you could bear it if I wed another, no matter when it may happen,” Sansa said, a lonely tear slipping down her cheek. “Because I do not know that I could.”</p><p>Jon did not have to consider his answer. He knew it just as easily as he knew his own heart.</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>“Are you certain about this?”</p><p>Sansa glanced up, meeting Jon’s questioning gaze. She knew his concerns. A part of her even shared his reluctance. They were young. Their life had barely begun and now they were taking steps to alter it rather drastically. This decision would most certainly change everything. He was right to ask if she was certain, just as she was right to nod her head without another moment of hesitation.</p><p>“I am,” Sansa said, squeezing his hand that was clasped around her own. “Are you?”</p><p>“I fear what may happen after this night,” Jon admitted, glancing around as if he expected someone to leap out and demand what they were doing in the godswood in the dead of night. “But I do not fear this.”</p><p>His eyes returned to hers and she could not help but smile, turning to place her other hand upon his cheek. Sansa couldn’t feel his warm skin beneath the glove she wore but her heart still fluttered when he leaned into her touch. This was so very dangerous. She could understand that, even at her young age. But there was something romantic about it as well. Sansa could almost hear a song in her head, written about this day.</p><p>Anyone else might think her foolish but she knew that her thoughts were safe with Jon. They had been ever since she told him about that first dream. For years, they had only one another to confide in. That sort of experience changed someone. She may have been young but she felt far older than her age. The boy that visited her dreams told her so many things. His warnings were grave, telling her what would transpire if she did not change her path, and the paths of others. Her father, her mother, Robb, Arya, Bran.</p><p>But Jon most of all.</p><p>So here they were, heeding the warnings of the strange boy and all the horrible things that she saw in her dreams. Sansa had never felt more sure about something in her life. She knew that Jon had his reservations but she knew that he trusted her more than his own fears. It was a powerful feeling, yet one that she treasured. For as much affection as he felt for her, it was returned in equal measure.</p><p>“Are you ready?” Sansa asked, her heart leaping in her chest at her own words.</p><p>Jon nodded his head, lifting his own hand to press over hers.</p><p>“I am.”</p><p>They pulled away from one another after another few moments, continuing on through the trees to the heart of the godswood. The great weirwood that loomed over them. The red leaves fluttered in the wind and the bark looked even paler in moonlight. Sansa and Jon did not stop their approach until they stood directly beneath it, their hearts beating quickly and their hands trembling at the knowledge of what they were going to do.</p><p>“I do not know what comes next,” Jon admitted.</p><p>Sansa glanced his way, remembering that he had never seen such a ceremony before. She’d attended a few, as Lord Stark’s daughter, but his supposed bastard was never allowed to witness it. Not for the first time, her heart ached for all that he’d been denied.</p><p>“We present ourselves before the gods,” she said, her voice hushed. “Then you ask who gives me away and I answer.”</p><p>Jon nodded, though the look on his face told her that he still did not quite understand exactly what to say. It wasn’t the custom, but Sansa knew she would have to speak first. She could only pray that the gods did not take offense to this odd ceremony.</p><p>“Ask me who comes before the gods,” she urged him.</p><p>He swallowed hard and cleared his throat before gripping her hand tighter and opening his mouth to speak.</p><p>“Who comes before the gods?”</p><p>“I, Sansa of House Stark, daughter of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Catelyn Tully-Stark,” Sansa pronounced solemnly, keeping her eyes fixed upon the face of the tree. “Who comes before the gods?”</p><p>Jon did not answer for nearly a minute, his breaths coming out in short bursts. Just when she feared that he would call an end to it, his voice filled the air.</p><p>“I, Jon Snow of House Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Westeros, and Lyanna Stark.”</p><p>Sansa pressed her lips together, emotion welling within her. They were truly doing this. It was almost unbelievable, though she knew it to be true. It was almost exhilarating.</p><p>“Who gives you away, Sansa of House Stark?” Jon asked, glancing her way.</p><p>She looked back at him, seeing the same excitement shining in his eyes.</p><p>“I give myself in the presence of the old gods of the First Men, willingly and without threat, to Jon Snow of House Targaryen.”</p><p>The smallest of smiles pulled at his lips, as if he couldn’t quite believe it either. Sansa turned to face him fully, reaching out to take his other hand. They stared at one another, the godswood falling silent as if the very world stood still to hear their vows.</p><p>“One flesh,” Sansa said, nodding at him to repeat it.</p><p>“One flesh.”</p><p>“One heart.”</p><p>“One heart.”</p><p>“One soul.”</p><p>“One soul.”</p><p>“I am his and he is mine, from this day until my last day.”</p><p>“I am hers and she is mine, from this day until my last day.”</p><p>Sansa’s heart seemed to soar in her chest, a smile breaking out onto her face that she could not contain as tears pricked at her eyes.</p><p>“You may-” her voice hitched and she inhaled deeply, willing herself to remain under control. “You may now cloak the bride and take her under your protection.”</p><p>She had no maiden cloak to show her house colors and Jon only had his practical one, but it mattered little to them. Sansa allowed him to shed her dove grey cloak, shivering as he placed his own on her shoulders and reached around to clasp it at her throat. Jon did not step away, turning to breathe her in as they stood there as one, wed before the gods of their ancestors. His hands lay gently upon her shoulders, relishing in the sense of rightness that had settled between them.</p><p>“Now what?” he whispered into her ear.</p><p>“We kiss to seal our union,” Sansa said, turning her head to look at him.</p><p>Jon hesitated before slowly moving to face her once again. As his hands lifted to cup her face, she felt a warm flush of anticipation fill her. The kiss he bestowed upon her lips was brief and sweet, enough for the both of them. When he pulled away, she met his eyes with stars in her own.</p><p>“We are wed,” Sansa breathed out.</p><p>He grinned at her, looking more handsome than she’d ever seen him.</p><p>“That we are.”</p><p>Sansa let out a light giggle, leaning into him to press her forehead to his shoulder. Jon’s arms wrapped around her, holding her close for a long stretch of time.</p><p>“We will wait for what comes next,” he said, his voice suddenly solemn. “You are far too young.”</p><p>She lifted her head to look up at him, a curious relief unfurling in her chest. She was not ready, she knew that. In truth, neither of them were. His words only made her love for him grow.</p><p>“Thank you,” Sansa choked out before throwing herself into his arms once more.</p><p>Though it wasn’t exactly like the songs she adored, she knew that Jon was more than everything she had once wanted. He was everything that she needed, which was far better than any romantic tale.</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>“Sansa and Jon are nowhere to be found.”</p><p>The words stirred the entire castle into a frenzy. Every room was searched. Every bed overturned and every corner peered into. By the time the two walked out of the godswood in the early light of day, standing close as they dared with Jon’s cloak still wrapped about Sansa’s shoulders, fear had turned to anger that was focused directly at them.</p><p>“Where in the seven hells have you been?” Robb demanded of them, though his eyes were fixed upon Jon.</p><p>Ned usually would have reprimanded such speech, especially with Arya so close, but his own anger pulsed through him so hot that he could not bring himself to care. Sansa looked at Jon with wide eyes, fear taking hold on her face. Whatever they’d been up to, it was up to the boy to speak of it. Her tongue seemed to have sealed to the roof of her mouth. Jon looked straight at Ned, reaching down to twine his hand with Sansa’s.</p><p>The defiance in his grey eyes struck the Lord of Winterfell directly in the chest and somehow he knew. He knew and yet he could not believe that they’d done something so foolish. Ned wanted to whisk them away, to speak of this in private. Servants knew well enough to keep their distance from the family but the others stood far too near. Rickon would not understand but the rest would. He could not let them hear. He could not-</p><p>“We are wed.”</p><p>Jon’s words seemed to cast a spell over them all. They stared and stared in disbelieving silence. Arya’s scoff broke it, though there was a stricken look upon her face. Rage brewed in Robb’s who looked about ready to punch the boy he thought to be his brother. Bran looked between them all with confusion. And Cat... Cat’s face was impossible to decipher. She was the first to speak, turning to Ned slowly.</p><p>“You will remove him from this castle,” she said in a low voice.</p><p>“Catelyn...” Ned sighed.</p><p>“You will. You will or I will make it happen myself.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>It was not Ned who spoke, nor Jon. Their eyes all settled upon the pairing once more and saw who spoke out. Sansa, who stood in front of Jon as if to shield him from whatever words would fly his way. For she knew well enough that he would be blamed for it all. She was too young and a girl at that. Jon should have been smarter. He should have been more responsible. He should have known what would result from this.</p><p>But there Sansa stood, a strong defiance taking hold in her Tully eyes. Her hand still held Jon’s, extended behind her without sign of letting go. She looked older than her years. Far older than she should have. As much as he hated the sight of it, Ned could not help but admire her in that moment. A wolf defending her mate. As natural as can be.</p><p>“It is not what you think,” Sansa said, her eyes flitting between them all. “<em> He </em> is not what you think.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Robb finally managed to say, his voice dark with anger.</p><p>She looked at Ned, daring him to speak. Challenging him to finally tell the truth.</p><p>“My solar,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Now.”</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>A storm raged within Winterfell that day. Accusations flew, tears fell, and shouts rang off of stone walls. Servants steered clear of the lord’s solar unless called upon to bring food or drink, and councilors dared not approach at all. At the end of it all, every one of them knew the truth, apart from Bran and Rickon. Even the angriest of them knew why the secret must be kept.</p><p>And they all knew that another must join it.</p><p>For no one could know of the marriage that took place. Even as Catelyn demanded that Ned declare it null, he did not do so for the desperate looks that Sansa and Jon sent his way. He knew now that there was nothing to be done. He waited too long to see the danger in their connection. They wouldn’t be dissuaded, though they would certainly learn the consequences of their actions.</p><p>“You will not be wed to Lord Daryn,” he said as they sat around his solar, watching the visible relief cross Sanas’s face. “But you have shown that you cannot make rational decisions when you are together.”</p><p>Jon straightened up where he sat next to his new wife, his eyes growing wide as a protesting noise passed Sansa’s lips.</p><p>“What will you do?” Jon asked.</p><p>Everyone else stayed silent, their eyes on Ned as they awaited his judgement. He considered it carefully, hating his position in that moment. As much as he wanted to afford them every joy in the world, and the happiness of a marriage of choice, winter was coming and it was clear that they did not heed the words as they should have. Nor did they anticipate the effect of their decisions.</p><p>“I will write to Smalljon Umber,” he decided, the idea occurring to him. “He is in need of a squire.”</p><p>“No!” Sansa cried, leaping to her feet.</p><p>Jon didn’t say anything, his face growing even paler.</p><p>“You can’t!” Arya complained, horrified at the thought of Jon going away to the Last Hearth for years.</p><p>“Quiet,” Ned said, giving them both as stern a look as he could muster. “Foolishness will be met with consequences. You gave no thought for your futures when you made this decision.”</p><p>“We did,” Sansa said, her voice breaking as tears slipped down her porcelain cheeks. “Please, Father. Please do not do this.”</p><p>For the love he bore his daughter, he ignored the twinge in his chest at her words. Life was full of hard lessons. He would have them both learn from this one. He rose to his feet, glancing at Catelyn only to be met with a look of stone. She blamed him for this, that much was clear. She would be no help to him now.</p><p>“You have not legitimized your marriage,” he said carefully, looking back at Sansa and Jon. “Be thankful that I do not declare it null before you have the chance. You will be parted until I deem it wise to reunite you.”</p><p>Sansa let out a miserable sob, turning to bury her face in Jon’s shoulder as he stood to embrace her. Every single eye in the room fixed upon them, slowly grasping the reality of the situation. In a single day, everything changed for House Stark. In a single day, everything changed for all of Westeros.</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>The day that Jon left for the Last Hearth, no single person could bring themselves to smile. A dark cloud hung over the castle, souring the mood of every man, woman, and child within the walls. Each member of House Stark gathered to see him off, even the Lady of Winterfell, though she kept her distance. Sansa stood at a distance from her siblings, her face pale and drawn as she wordlessly watched Jon prepare his horse.</p><p>He bid goodbye to Robb first, stiffly shaking his hand before drawing him into a hug. It did not matter what anger still lingered. It did not matter that Jon was his cousin in truth. They were brothers in every way that mattered and they would not separate with a bitter taste lingering in their mouths. Jon moved to Bran and Rickon next, embracing them both and assuring them that he would tell them of all his adventures when he returned.</p><p>Then Arya, who threw herself into his arms and gripped him tightly. They did not say a word to one another. They did not need to. An unspoken agreement passed between them. That they would see each other again. Then he moved away, walking to his uncle with his head held high. Jon would not cower. Not even as he accepted his punishment. Ned admired that in his nephew, a part of him quite relieved that there were no lies between them now. In the boy before him, Ned could see the man that he would become and in spite of recent mistakes, he felt pride.</p><p>“My lord,” he said, bowing low.</p><p>Ned reached out, clasping a hand on his shoulder once he rose.</p><p>“Care for yourself, Jon,” he said, staring into his eyes. “No matter what, you are my blood. You will return here one day.”</p><p>Jon swallowed his anger and nodded, pulling away and turning his eyes upon the last person that he had to bid goodbye. Sansa looked as if she’d run any second, if only to keep from watching him leave. Yet she allowed him to approach her, her shoulders shaking and her breaths growing quicker as she blinked against the tears that threatened to overwhelm her.</p><p>“We will see each other again,” Jon promised in a soft voice meant only for her, reaching up to cup her cheek. “I promise, my little wife.”</p><p>Sansa nodded, pressing her lips together as she kept her sobs at bay.</p><p>“Father-” she managed, shuddering at the high, reedy sound of her own voice. “Father says that I-I will be permitted to write to you.”</p><p>Jon nodded, forcing a smile upon his face.</p><p>“I will treasure every word and respond when I can, though I cannot promise that my letters will be as fair as yours,” he assured her.</p><p>Sansa did not smile, squeezing her eyes shut and inhaling deeply to calm herself. Jon took the chance to press a kiss to her forehead, knowing that he could not do anything more. He lingered far longer than he should have but he silently dared any man to try and pull him away. When he finally stepped back, Sanas opened her eyes and fixed him with a pleading look.</p><p>As much as Jon wished that he could submit to her and stay, there was no true choice. He might not have been Ned Stark’s son, but the man was still his liege lord and he was duty-bound to obey him. Taking his last look at his family and his home, he nodded to himself before mounting his horse, ready to be escorted by the younger Jon Umber himself.</p><p>Jon tried not to look back as they rode through the gates but it felt far too impossible to restrain himself. As he glanced over his shoulder, a sharp wind whipped Sansa’s hair from her shoulders, giving him one last look at his beautiful wife. Then the gates shut behind them and he continued on, not knowing that the Stark family stood fixed in their spots long after his departure.</p><p>Sansa did not look at a single one of them, drawing the cloak that Jon left behind tighter around her shoulders as she stared at the gates. Robb drew Bran into his side and Arya hid her face from the rest of them, refusing to let them see her tears. Catelyn lifted Rickon into her arms before walking to her husband’s side.</p><p>“What will we do?” she asked, knowing that this was another trial they would have to face together, no matter how furious she was with him. “When he returns?”</p><p>Ned did not so much as move for several long moments before finally looking her way.</p><p>“I do not know,” he admitted, glancing past her at Sansa before meeting her eyes again. “I will need help.”</p><p>Catelyn stared at him for a few tense heartbeats before nodding her head.</p><p>“Yes, I suppose you will.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I would absolutely love to hear what you think!</p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HOLY SHIT!!!!</p><p>I can't even begin to thank you all for the absolutely incredible response to the first chapter. Sixty-five comments for one chapter is absolutely monumental to me. I love that you all like this story already and I can only hope that I can continue to give you some good stuff to read. Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!</p><p>I'm not 100% pleased with this chapter if only because it takes us through a big chunk of time very quickly. I wanted it to get us from point A to point B and it's served its purpose there, so that's why I'm cool with posting it now. I don't want to stress over it anymore and try to make it perfect in my eyes because it's so much information that any version will make me second-guess myself.</p><p>I really tried to parallel Jon and Sansa's journeys here, so I hope that comes across well. Also, it's best if you don't try to fit the timeline of the show or books into this fic. You will see familiar events but that does not particularly mean that it'll go in the order or within the time frame that you think it will.</p><p>[EDIT] - This may not be 100% accurate to canon and I may bend certain situations to fit the story I have in mind. If you don’t like that, you are free to not read!</p><p>I really hope that you all like it as much as I loved writing it. And it's nearly as long as the first!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Promise me. </em>
</p><p>There were times that Ned could feel the shadows of the lives long since gone that haunted Winterfell. He could hear Brandon’s boasts echoing through the training yard. Lyanna’s laughter floating through the Great Hall. His father’s prayers lingering in the godswood. His mother’s soothing words brushing at the edge of his consciousness when he woke from dreams of scorching fire, choking ropes, and cruel laughter. Dreams of a bed full of blood and winter roses. Lyanna weeping.</p><p>
  <em> Promise me, Ned. </em>
</p><p>He could almost feel her stare following him as he made his way through the godswood, a scroll in his hand. Would his sister’s face be angry? Horrified? Devastated? Vengeful? Would she think that she’d abandoned her son? Had he? There was no way to know if he made the right decision, though he felt that he did the best he could. As much as he regretted the pain it brought down upon his family, he didn’t regret sending Jon to the Last Hearth.  He knew that neither Sansa nor Jon meant to cause harm with their actions. They had the minds of children and could not see the dangers, for they had seen so little of the world.</p><p>Perhaps the fault lay at Ned’s feet. For all that he spoke of winter, he knew that his children led relatively sheltered lives. They enjoyed comfort and warmth in the walls of Winterfell. Ned gave them his protection, the fates of his brother and sister always at the back of his mind. He would not see them suffer that way. Even Theon Greyjoy led an easy life, though he was less a ward and more a hostage. If Balon Greyjoy ever decided to rebel against the crown again, the boy’s life would be forfeit. Ned prayed that his own children would never be crushed by the weight of such a dim burden.</p><p>In the wake of Jon’s departure, Ned couldn’t hide his surprise that Sansa sought comfort in the presence of the old gods. She had always been her mother’s daughter, following Catelyn’s footsteps right into the sept that he had built for his lady wife all those years ago. Yet there she sat, her skirts spread out amidst the mossy earth and her back resting against a nearby tree as she stared at the weeping face of the heart tree. He suspected that she might feel closer to Jon there, where they wed barely a moon’s turn ago. Though he would never speak such suspicions aloud, Ned also feared that she used the godswood as a means to avoid her mother.</p><p>Catelyn had little reason to approve of Sansa’s marriage. Though she now knew that Ned never betrayed her, she still hadn’t quite forgiven him. The sting of his lies was still too fresh. She was one Stark among many that were displeased with him. Arya was angry with everyone. Robb had little idea of how to feel, only that he’d lost one of his only companions and he didn’t quite understand all that had led to such a drastic consequence. Bran was far quieter about missing Jon, though he did so all the same. Rickon’s heart seemed to grow all the wilder as he searched the castle for Jon without understanding that he was gone. And Sansa…</p><p>She lifted her head and all the cold of all the winter nights that Ned lived through couldn’t have compared to the ice in her eyes. He nearly lost his breath at the sight of her glare, seeing so much of Lyanna in her that an ache pulsed through his chest as he looked down at her. For a single moment, Ned wondered if Sansa would refuse to greet him. But he should have known far better than to think it. Angry or not, Sansa had all the makings of a highborn lady and she would sooner bleed than forget her courtesies. She rose to her feet gracefully, shaking out her skirts before sinking into a low curtsy, her eyes cast towards the ground.</p><p>“Father.”</p><p>She sounded older than her years and, as she lifted her head, he felt rooted in place by the gravity that he saw in her eyes. In anyone else’s face, Ned might have suspected that those eyes had seen decades worth of pain and tragedy. Sansa folded her hands before her patiently, a carefully schooled expression on her face as she waited for him to speak, her head tilted ever so slightly to the side. He couldn’t help but note the shadows beneath her eyes, the single flaw in an otherwise flawless face. It took nearly a fortnight for the redness to fade away and Ned was forced to wonder if she had cried every tear that she had in the wake of Jon’s departure.</p><p>“I received word from Lord Umber,” he said, his own thoughts reminding him of why he sought out his eldest daughter. “Jon has arrived and settled well at the Last Hearth.”</p><p>Sansa grew stiff at his words, giving him a brief, stilted nod as she listened.</p><p>“Thank you for telling me,” she said, very clearly choosing her words carefully.</p><p>Ned lifted the scroll in her hands, watching as her eyes fell upon it and some of the ice chipped away.</p><p>“This is for you,” he said, holding it out to her.</p><p>Sansa reached out with a pale hand and he saw that she trembled as she took the scroll, turning it over to inspect the seal. If he hadn’t been watching closely, Ned might have missed the subtle rise of her eyebrows. She was surprised that the seal was unbroken. It saddened him, to see that she trusted them all so little. She’d expressed such surprise that he would allow them to write one another at all that Ned had to wonder if she thought him so cruel to prohibit such small comforts.</p><p>“Your letters will not be read, so long as your actions are above reproach,” Ned said, feeling the need to warn her. “However, you must remember that Jon has his duties at the Last Hearth, much like you have your own here. If the letters become a distraction to either of you…”</p><p>He trailed off, the words lingering in the air as Sansa’s eyes cut to him once more. He realized at once that the hardness in her gaze served a purpose. Ned had been on the receiving end of his wife’s Tully fire and now it seemed that Sansa inherited quite a bit of her mother’s temper, yet in a far more subtle manner. Her eyes might have scorched him where he stood if she had the ability. Then, in a single blink, the look faded and she stared at him with dispassion once more.</p><p>“We will take great care, Father,” Sansa said, her words careful once more. “You have my word.”</p><p>Ned could remember a time when she called him Papa without hesitation, her skinny arms wrapping around his neck and her eyes looking to him so trustfully. Sansa once believed that he would never fail in his duty to protect her. Ned feared that he had broken much more than her heart when he sent Jon away. Her face seemed paler. She was quieter. Ned couldn’t remember the last time that he heard her laugh. As he excused himself to return to his lordly duties, he heard the rustle of skirts as she settled against the tree. It did not take long for her quiet sniffles and muffled tears to fill the godswood. Ned felt as if the sound would become yet another that haunted him. He never expected this.</p><p>In the midst of his desire to do the right thing, he never meant to make a ghost of his own daughter.</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>
  <em> Dear Sansa, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I pray that this letter finds you well. I am quite settled, though far from home. The Last Hearth is nothing like Winterfell at all, apart from being built of stone. It’s smaller and much simpler. I miss the hot springs and the godswood. I miss Arya’s laughter. I miss training with Robb and even Theon. I miss those evenings in Lord Stark’s solar. I miss a lot of things. I miss you most of all. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> On a clear day, I can see the Wall in the far distance. It won’t be long until I get a closer look. I suspect that the day will soon come when I am called out to join the Umber host in confronting wildling raids. If nothing else, I suppose that your father, my uncle, has given me the chance to pursue my own path to honor. As much as I hate being parted from you, I am grateful for such an opportunity. Smalljon Umber is a good man, far as I can tell. His father is as loud and boisterous as you might remember </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I know that I am rather fortunate to serve House Umber and perhaps one day, due to the Smalljon’s influence, I may return to you a better man so that you might feel pride in your choice of husband. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Our lives will likely not be easy for our decision just as I know that I will never regret having made it. I hope that you will forgive me for my selfishness, for I know that our lives will not be easy for what we have done. Are you still having dreams? I hope that the future is allowing you to rest. Forgive my simple words, little wife. I am who I am, and I fear that I can only offer you so much. If you should choose to love me in spite of such failings, I will know that you are far more than I deserve. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Yours, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Jon </em>
</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>Sansa knew that if she truly wished, she could refuse her mother’s entrance to her chambers. Her mother would not force her way in. But she knew that it was not a lady’s place to sulk about the castle. She was bred better than to avoid her lord father and lady mother out of anger. If nothing else, they were her liege lord and lady. Much like Jon felt duty-bound to obey their father when he sent them away, Sansa felt it necessary to honor and respect her mother. She set aside the sewing in her lap to stand, offering Catelyn a curtsy before sitting once more when her mother gave her a nod.</p><p>“A fine design,” Catelyn said, admiring the grey square of cloth.</p><p>Sansa allowed a small, acknowledging smile to grace her lips. In truth, she had only begun stitching on the handkerchief the day previous. She was only halfway through stitching the blue roses that would embroider the piece.</p><p>“I hope to send it to Jon,” she said simply, watching from the corner of her eye as her mother stiffened and the praising light faded from her eyes. “I’ve heard that his mother quite liked winter roses.”</p><p>“Sansa—”</p><p>“I imagine that someday, Father will have to give Jon a keep of his own,” Sansa said thoughtfully, knowing that they would hardly be permitted to reside at Winterfell. “I doubt we’ll remain long once he returns, especially if Robb has a wife of his own. Jon will need a sigil if we are to start a new house.”</p><p>Catelyn’s lips thinned as Sansa ceased the movement of her needle and tilted her head at the handkerchief in contemplation.</p><p>“I think that I will sew a wolf in the center of the field, to make it a version of the Stark sigil,” she said, tracing her fingers over the grey cloth. “Or perhaps a dragon.”</p><p>“Sansa,” Catelyn said, her voice much sharper.</p><p>She lifted her head and Tully blue eyes collided, the mother’s slightly darker than that of her daughter’s. Catelyn maintained a degree of silence in the wake of all that happened right under their noses. She knew that they were partly to blame, for giving the children such long leashes. For allowing them to cavort about the castle, alone and unchaperoned more times than any of them knew. The only hope that she had, a hope that she clung to, was the fact that it was not too late to save her daughter’s good name. Nothing had happened that couldn’t be undone. If Catelyn could not yet make Ned see that, she may have more luck with Sansa.</p><p>“I ask that you listen to me, my sweet child,” Catelyn said, gentling her voice when she saw the hardness in Sansa’s eyes.</p><p>Reaching out, she clasped her hand around that of her daughter’s and held her gaze with all the concern and love that she could muster.</p><p>“This… this folly cannot stand, Sansa. I know that it must have been difficult for you to have these dreams of yours. Difficult <em> and </em> confusing. Certain choices might have seemed sensible to you then and I’m certain that <em> boy </em> seemed quite dashing in your eyes for all the tragedy of his history. Such romances are to be expected in stories and songs, Sansa. But they are rarely so sensible in life. I know that perhaps it felt right to you then, that he might have been very convincing, but surely you can see now that there are better choices to be made.”</p><p>She hoped to see tears of happiness gather in her daughter’s eyes. A joy in her smile that spoke of relief. Perhaps they might share a hug, with Sansa whispering in her ear that she was so happy that someone had offered her such an escape. Catelyn didn’t expect how Sansa’s eyes narrowed, the handkerchief lying abandoned on her lap as she pulled her hand away to grip the arm of her chair tightly. She looked nothing like a maiden of three and ten. For the stone in her face, she may as well have been one of the statues in the crypt.</p><p>“You kept such thoughts to yourself for months now, lady mother,” Sansa said quietly, her soft voice so different from her cold eyes. “Why come to me now?”</p><p>Catelyn could list a dozen reasons why she had waited. Nothing fostered regrets like an idle mind and Sansa had been quite withdrawn from the rest of the family. A behavior she’d hoped to be an indication of shame. But she had seen the ravens flying in and out of Winterfell’s rookery, bearing letters that Ned strictly decreed should be read only by the eyes of those intended to receive such words. Catelyn’s temper nearly got the best of her when she discovered his intention. Such independence between Sansa and their bastard nephew had led to this exact situation, yet her husband was willing to extend them such grace. It was all beyond her understanding.</p><p>“There is no future in this, Sansa,” Catelyn said, sadness in her voice. “You must know that.”</p><p>Sansa’s eyes grew distant as if she saw something far different than the room where they sat.</p><p>“Do you see futures too, Mother?”</p><p>Catelyn had seen winters in the North. She knew what the cold could do and it was nothing compared to the ice that filled her veins at the sound of her daughter’s voice in that moment. Sansa sounded almost otherwordly, a terrifying thought to behold. In the midst of all her anger, Catelyn nearly allowed herself to forget what led her perfect lady of a daughter to make such a drastic decision. The dreams.</p><p>“I’ve seen a she-wolf with a heart of stone,” Sansa said, her eyes still staring off into some unknown world. “She hunts about the rivers in search of justice.”</p><p>Suddenly, her gaze was fixed on Catelyn once more.</p><p>“Justice for the murders of her children.”</p><p>Tears rushed to Catelyn’s eyes, her throat growing tight as if her body could not bear to permit another breath. She shook her head, refusing to let Sansa’s words be true.</p><p>“No,” Catelyn said, her voice thick with tears.</p><p>Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, Sansa looked like herself again. The sweet, kind, loving child that would one day be as good and gentle a lady as any. She rose to her feet quickly, crossing to kneel at her mother’s side with unshed tears swimming in her bright blue eyes.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Mother,” Sansa said, taking her hands and looking up into her eyes. “You must understand that this plan, this wedding… it was all of my own making.”</p><p>Catelyn stared down at her, not knowing what to believe.</p><p>“It took no shortage of effort on my part to even convince Jon to <em> consider </em> a wedding,” Sansa said in a trembling voice, her face paler than usual. “You do not know it, but your mind is similar to his own. He thought himself unworthy but <em> I </em> would not hear it. I would have no other then and my mind is unchanged now. I have seen terrible futures, Mother. Things that no one would believe at all, were I to speak of them. Futures that might never come to pass if I can make it all different.”</p><p>“There are lives that we will never live. Entire worlds stitched together by the gods that we will never know. Some where we never learn the truth of Jon’s mother and father. Where he goes north and I go south and blood runs like rivers throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Others where we learn the truth too late, and there is little to be done for the suffering we’ve known and all that will come. Worlds in which I can never know true happiness. In this one, I have already known love. A childish love though it may be, I believe that it can grow into something more. Something different, just like the love that you and father share. Built together, brick by brick. Just as you told me.”</p><p>Catelyn lifted her hands, cupping Sansa’s face in shaking hands.</p><p>“This is never what I wanted for you,” she said, tears slipping down her cheeks.</p><p>Sansa gazed up at her with imploring eyes, looking so young and yet not at all at the same time.</p><p>“But will you let me have this? Knowing that it is what I chose?”</p><p>Though her lips parted, Catelyn had no words to speak. There was so much that she did not understand. She hardly even knew her own mind in that moment, though she did know that she could make no promises. All that she could do was try.</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>
  <em> Dearest Jon, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Though it pains me that you are not here, It heartens me to know that you are settled well into the Last Hearth and it pleases me to know that Ser Jon the Younger will ably guide you. Though you do not have to return to me with anything more than your very presence. I am quite proud of the husband that I chose and I will not deny that I miss you as well. Sometimes when I wake, I forget that you are not here and must mourn your absence once more. I pray that the day of your return comes swiftly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I confess that it does not sit well with me, this idea that you might take on wildlings any time in the near or far future. Care for yourself, Jon. I beg you. We have heard many stories and I fear what may happen to you in such a confrontation, though I know that you are already a capable swordsman. I have every faith that you are improving in such skills with each day that passes. Perhaps a tourney will one day come to the North and my husband will elect to take part. I may well be convinced to offer up a favor in such a situation. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I have had a few dreams, though I will not burden you with their content in this letter. I am committing all that I’ve seen to writing, from before and now. At least those dreams that I remember. When you return, I may permit you to read all those that you missed. I persist in hoping that they will one day fade. That through our union, we have managed to change the path that may have led us to such horrors. Even if I am wrong, I will never regret wedding you for a single moment. It is my single most valuable memory. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It is not my place to decide who is deserving of what. I am but a girl, though I sometimes feel as if I have the heart of a woman. Who could see what I have and not feel the unearned years upon her shoulders? What choices I have in my life, I eagerly make with regards to you. My love and affections are mine to give and I give them to you, willingly and without threat. I am yours and you are mine. I do not intend to forget the vows I made to you. I wish you well in the days, months, and years to come, my dear husband. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> With my love, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sansa </em>
</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>The morning horn never woke him. His dreams were able to do that well enough. Jon always opened his eyes to the darkness, lingering remnants of blue eyes and flushed cheeks on the edge of his mind. He heard the shuffling of maids and grooms in the corridor, readying the keep for the day. Jon has his own duties to attend and little time to prepare. Upon his arrival at the Last Hearth, he’d adopted a very strict regimen that didn’t quite exist at Winterfell. At least not for himself.</p><p>Smalljon Umber, for all his goodness and honor as a Northman, did not intend to make Jon’s path to manhood an easy one. Northern lands were harsh, even harsher here than Winterfell. The Umbers turned out strong men and Jon would be no exception. Rousing himself from the small bed with a groan, Jon scrubbed the sleep from his face with his hands and crossed the chamber to splash cold water on his skin. A knock came on the door as he dried himself with a faded cloth, just like every other morning.</p><p>“My lord?”</p><p>Jon heaved out a sigh, crossing the room to unlatch and open the door.</p><p>“I’m not a lord,” he said, just like every other morning.</p><p>The servants there didn’t quite know how to address him. Apart from him, there were no other Snows in the halls of the Last Hearth. Bastards served in the kitchens and stables, without a doubt,  but none were claimed, much less the Warden of the North. The kitchen boy looked at him with uncertainty, as if he expected Jon to instruct him on what he <em> should </em> be called any day now. He never gave an answer. He didn’t know himself. At Winterfell, he knew that he was simply named as “the bastard” or “Lord Stark’s bastard” on rare occasions. Jon wasn’t about to give permission for the servants to do it here.</p><p>Taking his tray of food, he nodded for the boy to go, aware of the relief that crossed his face. Shutting the door behind him, Jon set the food down and stripped away his nightclothes, snatching bites to break his fast as he dressed for the day. After lacing the ties of his jerkin and shoving on his thick boots, Jon clasped a threadbare cloak over his shoulders and reached for the last of his daily wear. A well-made leather belt accompanied by a finely-made sword. He had barely ridden through the gates of the Last Hearth before the Smalljon pushed it into his hands, gruffly informing him that no one at this keep walked about unarmed.</p><p>So deep was their mistrust of the wildlings that often crossed into these lands to raid, steal, and pillage that even scullery maids might be seen with a sheathed blade tucked into a pocket. Along with Robb and Theon, Jon hadn’t been permitted to bear live steel at Winterfell. They were green boys and untried in the field of battle. In the eyes of Lord Stark and Ser Rodrik, they simply hadn’t earned the right. In the Last Hearth, it wasn’t a right. It was a necessity. Buckling the belt at his waist, Jon held the sword and allowed himself a single breath of reverence, just like every other morning, before sheathing it at his left hip.</p><p>Light barely peeked out over the grey horizon and his breath lingered in the air as he crossed the castle grounds to the stables to attend to his first duties. At first, eyes tracked his unfamiliar form at all times. It took time for these people to trust newcomers. Now, Jon was greeted from all sides and he simply gave nods to the servants and bows to those who earned them. As he slipped into the stables quietly, he caught sight of the boy who kept the horses day in and day out. No older than eleven, yet as hard a worker as any grown man.</p><p>“Tobin,” Jon greeted the boy.</p><p>Just like every other morning, he jumped out of his skin where he sat shoveling oats into his mouth. Jon felt a pang of guilt each time he saw it. Though he was simply a squire and a bastard, he ate better than the servants. The Umbers would give Lord Stark no reason to complain at his treatment. Jon wondered if they would go out of their way if they knew how Lady Stark perceived him.</p><p>“Yer a right prick, milord,” Tobin said, picking up his spoon where he dropped it in the hay. “How you sneak about so quiet anyway?”</p><p>He did little more than wipe it on his breeches before going back to eating as Jon stripped away his cloak and sword to better move about. In those first few weeks, the boy wouldn’t have even spoken to him. After hearing Jon let out a litany of curses when he dodged a horse’s kick only to land on his ass in a pile of droppings, Tobin lost any trace of shyness in the midst of his laughter. In the same moment, Jon lost any trace of affection for the Smalljon’s stallion. The old beast had a look in his eyes as if he’d been molded in the deepest of the seven hells just to make Jon’s life miserable.</p><p>“I’ll give you my secret one day,” Jon said, plucking half a leftover apple from his morning meal to feed to his own horse. “Hey boy.”</p><p>He ran his fingers through Alaric’s mane as he chomped on the apple happily, his tail swishing. The dark brown steed was a gift from Lord Stark for his two and tenth nameday.</p><p>“Where’d you get his name?” Tobin said, rising to his feet once he swallowed his last bite.</p><p>“From a Stark lord,” Jon said, picking up a brush to attend to his horse.</p><p>He knew that he had to brush out the Smalljon’s horse as well, and attend to whatever else they needed, but he was content to make the standoffish horse wait until he had done everything he needed for Alaric.</p><p>“Which one’s he, then?”</p><p>“A dead one.”</p><p>“They all be dead, milord. ‘Cept the one. Course you know that.”</p><p>Jon kept his sigh quiet, wishing that Sansa or Bran were there. They’d happily tell Tobin all that he wanted to know about Stark history, embellishing and making the stories sound like magic. Jon wasn’t a storyteller by any means. At that moment, he was little else than a stable boy himself. Tobin’s questions, as always, seemed endless as they went about their duties.</p><p>“Snow!” they both heard from outside of the stables. “To the yard with you!”</p><p>Jon handed the shovel off to Tobin without a beat of hesitation, used to the call. He took the time to scrape the muck from his boots and gather his cloak and sword before emerging to the sight of the Smalljon’s bearded face. Giving a bow of his head, Jon crossed over to walk at his side, knowing that he’d be no use at his back. At first, he would fall behind the man out of respect only to receive a few nasty barks about how a man’s words didn’t come from his ass and the Smalljon certainly didn’t mean to look over his shoulder every time he had something to say. It wasn’t an honor to walk by the side of Jon the Younger. It was simply how it was done.</p><p>Out of everything else he did, time in the training yard took up the majority of his day, and Jon wouldn’t have had it any other way. He felt at home here, no matter the many aches and bruises he earned. He went through hours of exercise, drills, and sparring with every weapon that the Smalljon could throw his way. And throw he did, expecting Jon to catch each sword, ax, spear, and bow that came hurtling through the air. After numerous bruises and near-fatal misses, Jon learned to be on guard for anything, whether he was in the training hard or out of it.</p><p>The Umbers were half-wild, in Jon’s mind. The furthest north of any other house and so near to the wildlings and accustomed to fighting them that they were near to wildlings themselves, apart from the fact that they despised the folk from north of the Wall with every bone in their very large bodies. In truth, Jon found a certain peace there that he rarely felt at Winterfell. Even in all the joy, he found in those he loved, Jon never felt a true belonging outside of a precious few stolen moments. Life was far more simple at the Last Hearth.</p><p>Without the weight of Catelyn Stark’s cold stare, always fearing that he would take everything from her trueborn children, he felt as if he could move about freely. Respect at the Umber stronghold came from deeds, not birth. He worked no less hard than the men above and below his station and for that, Jon was given a seat at their table, food on his plate, and a roof over his head. Simple. No man turned up his nose at sparring with Ned Stark’s bastard. They tested him at every turn, determined to take in a green boy, and turn out a warrior.</p><p>His hands grew more callused than ever and his eyes sharper. There was still a leanness to him that couldn’t be undone no matter how the hours and hours spent training or the amount of food shoved his way when he stumbled into the Great Hall stinking of sweat and horse only to find a plate piled with food awaiting him. No one seemed to mind his manners one bit, even as he shoveled food in his mouth as quickly as he could. Sansa never failed to come to mind as he ate, bringing the smallest of smiles to his face as he imagined what utter horror she would feel at seeing him thus. </p><p>“How in seven bleedin’ hells that boy still smiles after what you put him through, I’ll never know,” Mors Crowfood, the Greatjon’s uncle, said with a shake of his head.</p><p>“I’ll beat it out of ‘im one day,” the Smalljon said, though there was an amused shine in his eyes.</p><p>Jon turned pink in the cheeks and ducked his head more, busying himself with eating quickly so that he could get to the rest of his duties. Not for the first time, he wondered what these hardened men would think if they knew that it was his little wife on his mind, bringing such smiles to his face. Jon knew it would cause an uproar when they announced it to the North if Lady Stark didn’t convince Sansa to have the marriage annulled before such a time could come.</p><p>The thought of it turned his blood to ice, chasing the smile from his face. It was one of his greatest fears. That the distance would do them no favors. <em> It was her idea, </em> that voice would whisper in his mind. <em> Doesn’t mean she won’t want to take it back, </em> Jon would silently shrug in return. Daryn Hornwood was only the beginning. No one had any way of knowing that Sansa was anything but available to be betrothed to their perfumed little lordlings. They’d come from the North and south, bringing gifts and favors from places that she’d never seen before. Promises of new things. What was an absent bastard with no lands or titles in comparison to such finery?</p><p>Even if her mother didn’t try to guide Sansa away from him, she’d have plenty else to catch her attention. He shook such thoughts away, knowing that they were unfair to Sansa. <em> Look me in the eyes and tell me that you could bear it if I wed another, no matter when it may happen, </em> she had whispered, looking so terrified and lost in that moment, yet with the strength of wolves in her eyes. <em> Because I don’t know that I could. </em> Jon never answered her question, fearing that he might frighten her with all the words that stirred in the depths of his mind. Words of need. Words of desperation. Words of possession.</p><p>Once, Jon might have wondered if the wolf blood deep within him stirred up such visceral reactions. Making his blood grow hot and sing with intense need. Such thoughts brought him comfort before. A bastard he may be, but there was no denying the wolf in him. The Stark in him. Now, knowing the truth of his blood, he was forced to think that it wasn’t the wolf after all, but the dragon. Did Rhaegar Targaryen think such things? Did he look upon Lady Lyanna at that tourney and think the very same things that ran through Jon’s mind when he looked at Sansa? <em> Mine. </em> Jon saw nothing but the North in his face when he stared into a looking glass but he was forced to think that his father’s blood ran deeper.</p><p>Targaryen men stealing away Stark women.</p><p>Perhaps Jon was more like a wildling too.</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>It was a guard that roused him from sleep and drew him outside as the very first light of the day peeked out over the horizon. They had seen him handle the brazen acts of most of his children, but never Sansa. She was the easiest of them, to everyone else’s eyes. To Ned, she was the one he feared for the most. She stood on the battlements with her eyes cast to the North, a familiar cloak tucked tightly around her. Ned didn’t say a word, standing close to her. He would let her speak in her own time. She bore too much resentment and distrust to be forced to share her thoughts.</p><p>“I saw Ice in the hands of a silent man,” she finally spoke as the birdsong rose up from the godswood, and servants began moving about the courtyard in earnest.</p><p>It took a moment for Ned to realize what she was trying to tell him. A lone tear slipped down her cheek as he reached out to brush a hand over her shoulder. A dream, then. He hadn’t heard about one since she woke up screaming of fire.</p><p>“Did you know the man?” Ned asked.</p><p>Sansa shook her head, her lower lip trembling as she fixed him with an unreadable look before speaking once more.</p><p>“Your blood stained the blade.”</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>In the corner of Lady Sansa’s chambers, hidden in the shadows, sat a small chest filled with parchment. The key to the chest hung around the neck of that very lady, on a delicate silver chain. One day, she might show the pages to someone else. Until then, her dreams stayed locked away, right where they should be.</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>To his relief, Jon’s evenings were his own. He took the time to wash the filth of the day from his body before either eating alone in his chambers or attending the meal in the Great Hall. It seemed to be always filled to capacity with noble and common folk alike. All the wilder for the people that filled it. Jon could never hear much of anything over the roars, shouts, and laughter of all those around him. Jon was never an outsider here. Never pushed to the furthest table. Men slung their arms about his shoulders and crowed about the Quiet Wolf that could handle a sword better than any green boy they’d seen.</p><p>Serving maids fluttered their eyelashes his way and Jon endured the teasing he got for protecting his virtue. Visiting lords and their sons may look down their nose at him on these nights but in the training yard, the Smalljon never lifted a finger to stop him from knocking them into the dirt. They may see him as lesser, but they’d never underestimate him again. These men cursed the wildlings with one breath and praised their Warden in the next, and Jon sat amongst them all wondering how they’d feel knowing that they had a Targaryen in their midst.</p><p>On the nights that he spent in his chambers, he read and reread the letters that were delivered to him by the Last Hearth’s dutiful maester. No one ever knew that it was Lady Sansa’s words that were delivered by way of Lord Stark’s seal. Jon trusted his uncle when he said that the letters would go unread and they both let their words come freely, without censor. It was dangerous, he knew. If the letters fell into the wrong hands, all seven hells would be nothing compared to what would rain down upon House Stark. But he let his thoughts pour onto the page nonetheless.</p><p>Not all of his letters were for Sansa. Some were written to his uncle and others to Robb, Arya, Bran, or Rickon. Those were easy to write. Jon knew that they would forgive him for the short letters and few words that he managed to scribble out in the dim torchlight of his outer chamber. It was the other letters, the letters to Sansa, that he agonized over. No single word seemed enough. The length of the letters either felt too short or too long. He found himself scratching through whole sentences and crumpling entire strips of parchment into the fire to start all over again.</p><p>Quite thankfully, no one in this simple keep begrudged him all the paper and ink that he desired.</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>
  <em> Dear Sansa, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Though seeing our wedding vows reaffirmed in ink isn’t quite as sweet as hearing them from your lips, I treasure your letter nonetheless. I would ease your fears about the wildlings. I am not yet a man and the Umbers feel a great responsibility in regards to me, though I cannot quite imagine why. I may well be the bastard of a greater house, in their eyes, but I am still a bastard all the same. They seem to care little for it. Only for what I can do. I admit it is not a terrible place to live. With a few more choice names to add to my company, I suspect it would be quite perfect for me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I wrote letters to the others but I fear they will not return them. Are they still angry? I know that a part of Robb wanted to kill me when he learned of what we’d done, and I don’t entirely blame him for it. I know that Arya was on the cusp of forgiveness towards me before I left. Is she still angry with you? I hope not. I think that you two could get along quite well if you decide that you are not the enemies you think yourselves to be. How is your mother? Has she come around to the idea or is she still altogether opposed? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I confess I fear that one day I will receive a letter with word that you’ve changed your mind. I would be quite lost if such a future ever came to be. I would have done anything for you, my dearest wife. Even if you had no love for me and simply wanted an escape from a Hornwood marriage, I would wed you a thousand times over to give you such a choice. If you told me now that you wanted to make it as if our vows never happened, I would give you what you wish. If you asked me to ride back to Winterfell, damning all consequences, I would. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You have my heart, sweet Sansa. You are my heart, in every way possible. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I apologize for my writings.I know I’m no poet. Any words I speak or write are from the heart. If they prove to be less than you deserve, tell me and I will strive to do better. You may not have the pretty princeling from your stories but I will do all I can to be everything that you want or need. I’ll not succeed, I know that. But at least I can say that I tried to be worthy of such a lady. I hope that this letter finds you well. Keep looking north. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Yours, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Jon </em>
</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>“Lord Stark. My lady.”</p><p>Laughter still floated up from the training yard as Bran chased Arya about the training yard, bolstered by Robb’s calls to catch her as Sansa balanced a giggling Rickon on the fence. Ser Rodrick approached his lord and lady with the Greyjoy boy at his side, their faces set with grim knowing.</p><p>“A guardsman just rode in from the hills. They’ve captured a deserter from the Night’s Watch.”</p><p>Smiles faded and all eyes turned to the Lord of Winterfell.</p><p>“Get the lads to saddle their horses.”</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>It had been months since Sansa snuck about the castle at night. She had no reason at all to do so with Jon so far away. It was far too strange to think of approaching Robb after another of her dreams and Arya was still far too angry to accept Sansa into her chambers. So she contended with her dreams alone. They did not stir her from her bed this night. She had quite another goal in mind. The chamber door opened easily, only creaking a bit as she slipped inside and shut it behind her. She heard the small gasp from the bed and saw the moon reflect off of two wide, fearful eyes that watched her approach through the shadows.</p><p>“It’s only me, little brother,” Sansa said, assuaging his worries as she neared the bed.</p><p>Bran breathed easier when he saw the shine of her hair and the shape of her face. He grew even calmer at the sight of the pup she carried in her arms. His own wiggled atop the furs at the sight of his sister and Sansa didn’t hesitate to place them next to one another, allowing them to sniff and tumble around one another with wagging tails.</p><p>“I hear that you did well today,” she said softly, sitting atop the furs and brushing Bran’s auburn hair away from his eyes.</p><p>“I didn’t look away,” he said quietly, his eyes wide as if he couldn’t close them even now.</p><p>Sansa could hardly blame him. She didn’t remember how Jon and Robb looked the first time that they saw Father carry out the king’s justice but it must have affected them just so.</p><p>“How very brave of you,” Sansa said with a smile, brushing her thumb over his cheekbone.</p><p>Bran pushed up to his elbows, watching as Lady nudged her nose at his as yet unnamed wolf and licked his ear.</p><p>“Do you see things like that? In your dreams?”</p><p>The fond smile slipped from Sansa’s lips and she looked at him with a furrow in her brow.</p><p>“How do you know about that?”</p><p>Bran looked at her guiltily before shrugging and lying back down. Sansa caught the furs before he could pull them over his head and escape her scrutiny.</p><p>“Brandon Stark,” she said in warning.</p><p>“I was climbing,” he relented, his face nearly hidden from sight as he burrowed beneath his bedcovers. “Mother and Father didn’t know that I could hear them. I was out of sight.”</p><p>Sansa frowned down at him and she did not need to use words for him to understand how disappointed she was in his eavesdropping. She feared what he might have heard. Dreams were not the only thing that her mother and father might be discussing when they thought there were no listening ears around.</p><p>“I’ve seen many things in my dreams,” Sansa said, knowing that there was no use in rebuking him when nothing could be done about what he knew.</p><p>“Terrible things?” Bran asked.</p><p>Sansa breathed in deeply, nodding her head once at his words. He was less a child now than he was yesterday. If their father would no longer shield him from some truths in the world, she would not either. Winter was coming.</p><p>“Some of them,” she said, refusing to go into detail about any of them.</p><p>Bran pressed his lips together, looking up at her with wariness in his eyes.</p><p>“Did Jon have to leave because of your dreams?”</p><p>“What?” Sansa said, taken aback by the question. “No, he—”</p><p>She cut off, shaking her head as she tried to figure out how to answer him best without confusing him or revealing too much. He couldn’t know the truth. Sansa could see the danger in a child having such grave information. <em> Old enough to see a man killed but not to hear the truth of the boy he thinks to be his brother and the girl he knows to be his sister? </em>Sansa brushed away the voice that whispered in her head, having little time to listen to it now.</p><p>“Jon is different from the rest of us,” Sansa finally settled, knowing that this would make sense to Bran’s ears. “Sometimes, he will have to do different things. That does not mean that he will never return. It’s not forever, Bran. It’s just right now.”</p><p>If asked, Sansa wouldn’t know whether to say that she was trying to comfort Bran or herself.</p><p>“He’ll get his wolf, right?” Bran asked worriedly, looking up at her with such eager innocence in his eyes.</p><p>“Of course,” Sansa said, reaching up to tweak his nose. “Father will send riders to the Last Hearth to make sure of it.”</p><p>Bran smiled, looking less haunted than he had before. She considered her duty well done. Tilting her head towards the direwolves as they curled up with one another, already tired from their short bout of play, she reached out to stroke Lady’s ears first, then under the chin of Bran’s direwolf.</p><p>“What will you name yours?” she asked, nudging her little brother as he sat up.</p><p>Bran stared down with such a serious look of consideration in his eyes.</p><p>“I don’t know yet.”</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>Jon knew the whispers that followed him through the keep. He rarely spoke unless first spoken to, preferring to keep his words to himself if necessary. There were times when his words were altogether unwelcome in Winterfell. Old habits were hard to break. The Quiet Wolf, they called him. So unlike the loud, brash men that filled the halls of the Last Hearth. The moniker was well known and served him well until the day that everything changed with the appearance of two men at the gates of the castle. One bore the sigil of House Stark and the other…</p><p>The other held a ball of white fur in his arms.</p><p>Calls reached his ears, demands for him to come to the gates. As he tossed away the blunted tourney sword he’d been training with in the yard, Jon wiped his sleeve over his sweating face and started for the small crowd that had formed. No sooner had he pushed through them all did Jory Cassel himself drop the wiggling pup into his unexpecting arms. Jon stared down in shock, adjusting his hold on the wolf as blunt claws scraped over his leather jerkin and a pink tongue darted out to lick any spot of skin that the tiny beast could find. It took the space of a mere moment for Jon to love him.</p><p>“It’s yours to care for,” Jory warned him, though there was a look of affection in his dark eyes. “Lord Stark made it quite clear that you’ll not allow anyone else here to bear the burden.”</p><p>Jon nodded quickly, clasping the older man’s hand when he reached out.</p><p>“Good to see you, boy,” Jory said with a wink, passing him a small roll of tied fabric as well before moving past him to greet the Umbers.</p><p>They took to the Great Hall so that the visitors could eat. Jon barely heard a word they said as he fed scraps of his own food to the direwolf.</p><p>“They found six of ‘em in the wolfswood, still suckling on their dead mother,” Jory said, nodding at Jon and the wolf. “Seemed a little too perfect for Lord Stark to let them be killed.”</p><p>Jon felt somewhat pleased not only that his cousins had direwolves of their own, but that he had one when they all did too. In a mind so twisted with thoughts of a father and mother he’d never know and all the history of a house that he never thought to belong to, the undeniable proof of his connection to House Stark was a relief. He had a direwolf of his own that none could take from him. Though he was as energetic and lively as any pup, Jon had yet to hear the animal make a sound. When he voiced such a thought to Jory, the other man looked at him knowingly.</p><p>“He’s never so much as whined in my presence.”</p><p>Frowning down at the pup, Jon wondered if there might be something wrong with him.</p><p>“Quiet as his master, then,” Smalljon said with a chuckle.</p><p>“Quiet as a ghost,” Jon whispered to himself.</p><p>From that day forward, the Quiet Wolf became the White Wolf and whispers spread further than just the halls of the Last Hearth. People all over the North would hear of the almost man sheltered by the Umbers. A boy with a silent direwolf ever at his side and the look of the Starks in his face. Word passed from mouth to ear, speaking of what they saw in the training yard. A menace with a sword. A born fighter with the potential to be the best in all the North. Maybe even in all Seven Kingdoms. And when the light hits his grey eyes just right as he beckons his opponents closer in silent focus, countless men would swear to themselves, yet never aloud, that they almost looked violet.</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>
  <em> My Jon, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> How utterly foolish you are, in every way. Were we together, I would offer you a quick smack to the shoulder or perhaps even your head. An unladylike declaration, in truth, but a deserved one all the less. You worry for nothing. You anticipate a change of mind where I can promise you that there will be none. No such letter will ever fall into your hands. I do not intend to break my vows and you offer me insult by fearing otherwise. I’ll not hear of it again, husband. I humbly request your word on the matter. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Though I wish you were here more than anything, it softens my heart to know that you are treated well at the Last Hearth and accepted into their household without fuss. You speak much on what you believe I deserve so I suppose it is my turn. You deserve such a sense of belonging. If I had the ability, I would join you there in an instant. As it stands, we have some time yet before we may be together again and I do not wish for both of us to spend it all in misery. Do not be afraid to tell me if you like it there. I will not be hurt by that. Not when you deserve happiness ever so much as I do. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Arya will come around eventually. Unless she intends to nurse her anger at her breast for the rest of her days, she will quite simply have to forgive the both of us. I think that she is quite near to it. As for my mother, do not concern yourself with what she may think. In matters of marriage, and my marriage specifically, there is only one opinion that I hold in high regard. It should come as no surprise to you that such an opinion does not belong to my mother, nor to my father or any of my siblings. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You have no reason at all to apologize for your letters. I treasure each one as a priceless gift. Your words ring every bit as beautiful as poetry in my ears. In relation to gifts, I trust that you have received that which my father sent north for you. I only saw your little white one a few times. You must tell me everything there is to know, starting with his name. My own pup is a lovely thing with grey fur and yellow eyes. She is most precious to my heart and submits to my every attention without complaint. I chose to name her Lady, for that is precisely what she is. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I hope that you enjoy the smaller token I gave to Jory for you. It is not much but I hoped to bestow such a favor upon you so that you will not forget me in all your time there. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> With my love, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sansa </em>
</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>As she woke suddenly from a dream of green flames and scarred faces in the dark, the first thing that she felt was a sharp pain in her belly. It was unlike anything she’d felt before, dulling into a low ache that didn’t fade. Lifting her hand, she pressed it to her stomach and moved to sit up. That was when she felt something odd about her nightshift. It felt… wet. An unnatural stickiness between her thighs made itself known and all at once, Sansa knew exactly what was happening. Her mother had counseled her in such things for a little over a year now. Tears sprang to her eyes, though she could not quite understand why. She didn’t want to look. Looking would make it all the more real.</p><p>Lady stirred at the end of the bed as Sansa pushed the furs down her legs with her eyes fixed firmly on the door to her bedchamber. The direwolf lifted her head, sniffing at the air. She must have smelled the blood. With a whine, she rose to her feet as Sansa slipped from the bed, wincing at her discomfort. Feeling a nose nudge at her hand, Sansa took a moment to scratch her ears before crossing her chamber on shaking legs. As her hand found the door’s handle, she took a moment to breathe in and out several times before opening it just enough to peer out into the corridor.</p><p>“Tarik?” she called out in a whisper.</p><p>The same guards watched over the chambers of the Stark children night after night, as they had for years. They were most trusted, Tarik even above the rest. She could hear the fall of his steps as he drew closer, appearing before her with a frown that deepened at her tear-stained cheeks.</p><p>“Would you fetch my mother, please?” Sansa said, her face growing hot. “I am in need of her.”</p><p>She knew that Tarik had a family of his own and two daughters that had a few years on her. He had every reason to know exactly what roused her at such an odd hour and judging by how his eyes grew round, he did know.</p><p>“Of course, my lady,” he said, offering her a bow and a parting look of sympathy before disappearing from sight again.</p><p>Sansa closed her door, her teeth worrying at her lower lip as she took a slow step back. Lady had leapt from the bed and brushed against her leg, whining once more until Sansa lifted her up into her arms. Drifting back towards her bed, Sansa eyed the disturbed covers warily and felt a catch in her throat at the scarlet stain smeared over the sheet. Now that she had seen it, she couldn’t tear her eyes away even if she wanted to. Even the sound of rushing footsteps didn’t stir her from the trance until the door opened and her mother rushed through, hastily dressed in a robe with her hair in disarray.</p><p>“Oh my sweet girl,” Catelyn said, walking over to Sansa to fold her in a warm embrace.</p><p>“I—” Sansa inhaled sharply, letting her face press into her mother’s shoulder. “I did not expect it to feel this way.”</p><p>Pulling away, Catelyn smoothed her hair away from her face and gave her a tremulous smile.</p><p>“We rarely know what to expect until it’s already happened,” she said just as a knock came on the door.</p><p>Sansa flinched, wanting no one else to see what had happened. Though she knew it was a natural process, a part of her wanted to keep it entirely to herself and her mother.</p><p>“It’s just Shana,” Catelyn assured her, naming her own lady’s maid. “I asked her to call for bathwater and cloths so that we may clean you up and help you prepare for the rest of your course.”</p><p>“I don’t want to bathe,” Sansa said with a shake of her head, her eyes darting to her soiled bed once more. “Not in here.”</p><p>Catelyn hushed her quietly, understanding her objections without protest.</p><p>“You may do so in my chambers, then,” she said, crossing the room to give Shana her new instructions.</p><p>Sansa could do little else but watch as her mother bustled about the room, lighting a candle from the fire and retrieving Sansa’s own robe to cover her so that they could make the short walk to her chambers.</p><p>“Shana will call on a few other maids to help her clean your bed, so there’s no need to worry over that,” Catelyn said, helping Sansa into the robe once she set Lady on the ground. “Come, sweetling.”</p><p>Lady followed them as they walked along the corridor, one of Catelyn’s hands holding the candle and the other keeping a gentle, comforting grip on Sansa’s. She shied away from the guards, though she’d known them all her life. Everything felt different. As if the world had tilted ever so slightly and she had to adjust everything that she knew. Once in her mother’s chambers, Sansa let her hair be pinned away from her neck to keep it dry before she stripped away her robe and nightshift and sank into the warm water that awaited her before the hearth. Catelyn stirred the flames with a poker as Sansa scrubbed at her skin with a soapy cloth, keen to clean herself as well as she could.</p><p>“Do you have any pains?” her mother asked, pulling up a stool to sit beside the tub.</p><p>Sansa hesitated before nodding, grateful for the soothing oils that Shana had poured into the bathwater. They were enough of a distraction that she could feel the tension slowly ebb away.</p><p>“It aches,” she admitted, sinking further into the warm water. “Though it feels better now than it did before.”</p><p>“That’d be the heat of the bathwater,” Catelyn nodded, reaching out to stroke a loose lock of hair behind her ear.</p><p>Sansa tilted her head towards her mother’s touch, craving it more than she even knew. A part of her wanted to be treated as a child, now that she had undeniable proof of her body’s crawl towards adulthood. Unlike other places, they did not believe that a girl’s first bleeding made her a woman, but it was an indication of growth and a stepping stone into a new stage of life, especially for a highborn lady. Sansa knew that many changes would be coming and she didn’t know if she was prepared for any of it. For all her thoughts that she’d been aged by her dreams, nothing had her ready for this.</p><p>“You remember what I told you? About padding your smallclothes with cloths and changing them out quite often?” her mother reminded her.</p><p>She nodded, feeling close to sick at the thought of bleeding for days. It was one thing to understand the facts of her moonblood and quite another to know that it would be happening often.</p><p>“Does Father know?” Sansa asked in a small voice.</p><p>Catelyn’s lips bloomed into a smile.</p><p>“He suspects,” she said, stroking Sansa’s cheek softly. “He woke when Tarik came to our door. I’ve never seen the man so pale. I think he was quite relieved when I told him that this was a mother’s duty.”</p><p>The teasing lilt in her voice brought a smile to Sansa’s own face, though a part of her dreaded having to face him.</p><p>“Will it always be so messy?” Sansa asked, wrinkling her nose at the memory of her bedsheets.</p><p>“Quite,” Catelyn said with a sigh born of many courses throughout her life. “Though far less messy than birthing a child.”</p><p>Sansa sank her teeth into her lower lip, not wanting to think of such things at all.</p><p>“Can I stay here tonight?” she asked, wanting nothing more than to cling to the remnants of her childhood.</p><p>“Of course,” her mother said, pressing a kiss to her forehead before standing at the sound of another knock.</p><p>It was Shana, who handed over a small pile of garments before moving to prepare her mother’s bed for sleep. It took longer to dress once she stepped out of the bath and dried her skin. Sansa watched as her mother lined her smallclothes with thick cloths, knowing that she would have to do it on her own from this day forth. Once she was dressed and tucked beneath the furs, Sansa didn’t protest as her mother drew her into her arms and pressed kisses to her hair.</p><p>“I confess that I am glad I came first,” Sansa murmured sleepily, a small smile pulling at her lips in spite of her trepidation for the future. “You’ll need all the help you can get when it’s Arya’s turn.”</p><p>Catelyn let out a soft laugh, agreeing quietly as she stroked her hair. It didn’t take long after that for her mother’s gentle ministrations to carry Sansa off into sleep.</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>The feeling was unlike any other. A chilling rise of fear and anticipation clenching over his heart. As he crept low to the ground through the early morning mist in the wolfswood, sword clutched tightly in his hand, Jon knew that he had every chance of dying before the sun reached its peak in the sky. No one, not even Jon, dared disagree when the Smalljon declared that it was time for his squire to ride out and cross blades with a wildling group that had been seen all about the Gift and further south in the woods.</p><p>In truth, he didn’t know if he was ready. Even if he’d had thirty or forty name days by now, instead of seven and ten, he still didn’t know if he’d be ready. Yet he was there all the same, eyes fixed on the back of his commander. They knew the wildlings were close. A hunter from Queenscrown brought them news of the raiding group and offered to help track them. He had a sister who had been stolen in the last winter, disappearing beyond the Wall never to be seen again. This far north, it was hard to find someone who didn’t know someone else who had been affected by wildling raids.</p><p>For Jon, dislike of the wildlings wasn’t inherent within him. What kept him going through the fear was the thought of these raiders getting anywhere near Winterfell. It was a fair distance on foot, but not unheard of. So they’d tracked them down in a company of ten men, armed and armored. Peering through the mossy trees, Jon saw them for the first time and knew without a doubt that they would be beaten. Though the wildlings outnumbered the Northmen, what weapons he could see were blunted and ill-cared for, likely stolen from those they killed.</p><p>They’d fight to the death, and may take a few men with them, but they’d die all the same.</p><p>Smalljon turned his head ever so slightly, giving them all an indicative nod. The others began drifting away on near-silent feet, moving to surround the small encampment. The wildlings were smart enough not to start a fire but these men knew the wolfswood better than anyone and even the quietest of sounds could carry a long way. Jon exhaled slowly, preparing himself to take position. A hand pressed over his shoulder, a whisper of “Watch your back, Snow” reaching his ears before he made his way slowly through the brush, Ghost right at his heels.</p><p>The direwolf was larger than any hound in the Last Hearth’s kennels and still as silent as the day Jon first saw him. They were of one mind in all the ways that counted. Jon never told anyone of the dreams. Running through the night. The taste of blood on his tongue. Four paws crossing miles and miles of northern lands. He didn’t even speak of it in his letters. It frightened him as much as it exhilarated him. Even now, he felt as if he could slip into Ghost’s mind if he truly wished it. Pushing the thoughts away, Jon gave his attention to the fight and prepared for the Smalljon’s signal.</p><p>From there, it was a blur of instinct. It mattered very little how many hours he trained a day. The wildlings had never seen a single minute in a castle’s training yard and they killed seasoned warriors all the time. He knew how to advance and deflect. How to fade and pivot. But none of that meant a damn thing when the men they faced would be all too willing to tear their throats out with nothing but teeth. Jon felt all else fade from his mind as he ran into the fray without hesitation. There was nothing but this. The fight. Smalljon and the others always told him that a man never knew the true measure of himself until he fought.</p><p>Jon knew now that they spoke true.</p><p>He was made for this.</p><p>The wildlings were fearsome, roaring out words in the Old Tongue, snatching up their weapons and brandishing them as if they were crafted of Valyrian steel. Jon gave himself to the ingrained memory of movement within his body and mind, his heart beating out a rapid song in his chest, grunts and shouts slipping from his lips as he slashed and ducked. It was a dance. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could see Sansa’s skirts twirling about her legs as she learned southron steps from her septa. Her bright eyes gazing into his. Her cheeks flushed. Her perfect lips parting to speak. <em> I am his and he is mine, from this day until my last day. </em></p><p>No.</p><p>He would not die.</p><p>He would not break her heart.</p><p>Jon threw himself into the fight with cold determination. Three men surrounded him and he took notice of the thick furs that they wore. An impediment to their movement, unlike his own fighting leathers. Ghost was a white blur, tackling one to the ground as Jon took on the other two. They took no prisoners at the Last Hearth. One by one, the wildlings fell. Ghost’s muzzle was stained with blood and his teeth bared in a silent growl as Jon found himself fighting the last of them, backed against a tree with a bent sword aimed at his head.</p><p>A well-aimed kick to the ribs sent the wildling staggering backward and knocked the wind from him. It mattered little. He didn’t get the mercy of another full breath. Jon’s sword slashed through the air and a spray of warm blood hit his face as the wildling collapsed in the dirt and moss with an open throat. His chest rose and fell quickly, war thrumming through him with every beat of his heart.</p><p>It ebbed away slowly, this odd feeling in his chest. A sense that he could do anything in that moment and no one would be able to stop him. When it was gone, it left behind something cold. Jon’s hands were stained with blood. His sword dripped with it. Could he ever wash it away? Ghost nudged a wet nose at his hip. He might have been whining if he could. Jon stared and stared at the dead wildling at his feet. A raider. A killer. Yet a life all the same. A soul put to rest by Jon’s blade. He had never killed before. He was made for it. What did that say about the kind of man he was?</p><p>“He’d have done the same to you,” Smalljon said gravely, grasping Jon’s shoulder. “And the same to any other man or woman unfortunate enough to cross his path.”</p><p>His hand slipped away but Jon spoke, his voice hoarse, before he could walk off.</p><p>“Does it get any easier?”</p><p>Jon lifted his eyes, not knowing what he wanted to hear. The Smalljon offered him no comforting words. All that he did was point his own bloodied sword at the wildling and speak the same words as before.</p><p>“He’d have done the same to you.”</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>“Your father and I have a task for you.”</p><p>Sansa’s eyes lifted from her bowl of honey-sweetened porridge, expecting that her mother spoke to Robb only to see that the attention was upon her.</p><p>“Me?” she said, setting her spoon down.</p><p>Catelyn nodded, laying a folded piece of parchment next to her bowl.</p><p>“You are at an age where certain things become quite important,” she said with a grave yet somewhat eager sound to her voice.</p><p>Sansa looked to her siblings only to see confusion in their eyes. Picking up the parchment carefully, Sansa unfolded it and saw only several separated lists of Northern houses and felt a wave of anger come over her until she allowed herself to read the names listed for her.</p><p>“These… these are the names of ladies,” Sansa said, puzzlement replacing the anger as she looked up with a furrowed brow. “I don’t understand.”</p><p>“You are the eldest daughter of the highest lord in the North,” Catelyn said, giving her a smile. “It is only right that you establish a household of your own with five or six appropriate companions.”</p><p>Sansa’s eyes grew wide at her mother’s words. Such was more a southern tradition than a northern one, yet she could recall all of the stories of her mother’s years spent with ladies from different houses in the Riverlands, developing lasting friendships that lasted even to this day. Sansa had seen her mother smile each time she sat to correspond with those same ladies, who all had husbands, children, and keeps of their own. A sense of wonder filled her as she dropped her eyes to the list once more.</p><p>“I can choose any of them?” she asked, her eyes tracing over the familiar house names that she knew all too well from her lessons.</p><p>“Their fathers and mothers must approve first, but you may shorten the list and we will send out ravens with invitations to join your household,” her father said, sharing a look with his wife.</p><p>Catelyn reached out, slipping her hand into his as they watched Sansa’s bright eyes trace over the parchment again and again, her breakfast quite forgotten.</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>That night, her dreams were haunted by a man with the bloody head of a crowned direwolf.</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>The very next day, Sansa presented her mother with a list in return. Catelyn read over it with warmth in her eyes only to find a name she did not expect. A name that was not on the original list.</p><p>“Roslin Frey?” she said, her eyes growing wide as she looked up at her daughter.</p><p>Sansa gave a nod in return with a determined, steely look in her eyes.</p><p>“House Frey is one of your father’s most powerful bannermen, is it not?” Sansa asked, her voice holding an innocence that her shrewd eyes did not reflect. “I may bear the Stark name but I do not forget my Tully blood, Mother. Perhaps this will help strengthen the ties between my grandfather and Lord Walder.”</p><p>Catelyn felt tempted to speak out against it. She knew enough of House Frey to mistrust them, just as her father did. Yet there was something about Sansa’s demeanor that stayed Catelyn’s words long enough for her to consider the impact. It would most certainly be an honor and Lord Frey could hardly find fault in his daughter being a part of Sansa’s household, given that she was the daughter of a warden.</p><p>“We will send the letters,” Catelyn said with a nod.</p><p>Sansa graced her with a wide smile, the grave look in her eyes disappearing in favor of shining joy. Bending down, she pressed a kiss to her mother’s forehead before all but skipping away to her chambers to write another letter that would soon be bound for the Last Hearth.</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>
  <em> My Jon, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I have the most wonderful news. Mother and Father have given me permission to establish my own household of young ladies within Winterfell. I will be joined by six companions from noble houses to serve as my ladies in waiting, though really I intend that they will be my friends more than anything else. The letters have already been sent out to their families so all that we await is their response. Then, given their acceptance, they will travel to Winterfell very soon. I do hope that I made the right choices. There are few ladies close to my own age in the North. Perhaps you will approve of them from afar. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Among the list is Alys Karstark, Wylla Manderly, Lyra Mormont, Jorelle Mormont, Eddara Tallhart, and Roslin Frey. I know the last of them is quite odd, but I do not think it too out of the ordinary to choose a lady from my mother’s lands. I admit, such a choice was not selflessly made. I have seen enough in my dreams to know that a close connection to House Frey may benefit us in the future. Do you think my choices well made? I fear that they will dislike me, to be truthful. Apart from Jeyne Poole and little Beth Cassel, I have spent so little time with others of my own age. I do know that Lady Jorelle and Lady Eddara are closer to Arya’s age but I hoped that they might induce my sister to join us on occasion. I have also heard that Momront girls are given a sword at an early age. That alone will convince Arya to our side if nothing else. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I hope that this letter finds you well. Are you still quite happy at the Last Hearth? Is Ghost quite large now? Lady towers over all ponies in the stables and she isn’t nearly as big as the others, especially Grey Wind. Robb walks around with quite the puffed chest, so I dearly hope that you may return with a direwolf larger than his so that he will no longer think himself above us all in that regard. I’ve heard whispers of you here in Winterfell. Did you know that they call you the White Wolf? I know that you were quite talented with a sword even here at Winterfell but from what they say, your skills have grown into near legend. How proud I am that you have found your way. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> With my love, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sansa </em>
</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>One by one, six new faces arrived in Winterfell to stay.</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>“To Ser Jon Snow!”</p><p>Greatjon Umber’s voice may have been heard as far as the Wall for how loud he bellowed, with ruddy cheeks and a mug of ale lifted high into the air. Jon’s own face grew hot as all eyes fell to him yet he could not stop the grin from pulling at his lips as several hands thumped against his back.</p><p>“To Ser Jon!”</p><p>“The White Wolf!”</p><p>“The Sword of the North!”</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>“To Lady Sansa of House Stark,” a voice cut through the air in the Great Hall of Winterfell. “May she know many more namedays and may she find comfort in the love of the North for all her days.”</p><p>Sansa beamed from her place at the center of the high table, her face glowing with delight as she beheld the many delights her mother and father had planned for her six and tenth nameday feast.</p><p>“To Lady Sansa!”</p><p>“Sansa Stark!”</p><p>“Our Jewel of the North!”</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p><em> My heart </em>,</p><p>
  <em> I have been knighted. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I can scarcely tell you all that happened, for I do not remember that well.. It seemed just the same as any other fight against the wildlings. I kept close to Ghost as always until I saw the man that advanced upon the Greatjon’s back. He was even bigger than Lord Jon and quite a bit sneakier. If I had not rushed to defend the Lord of the Last Hearth, the Smalljon might be sitting in his father’s seat even now.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It was a difficult fight. The worst I have seen, in truth, but the big wildling’s body nourishes the earth as I write this letter now. I could hardly breathe, much less think when the Greatjon told me to kneel in the middle of the field once the fight was over. I didn’t think to be knighted in that way, or at all, yet I am a knight all the same. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I hope that makes you proud, little wife. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Though you are not so little anymore, I suppose. I regret all that I have missed, your namedays included. I am certain that you looked radiant at your feast. You must have become ever more the perfect lady in our separation. I hope that we will see one another soon. Robb writes that he may be betrothed soon and I hope that in the wake of recent events, Lord Stark will see to it that I return home. I am grateful to the Umber lords, but I feel as if I have learned all that I can here. I am ready to come home to you, my heart. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Your knight, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Jon </em>
</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>They grew complacent.</p><p>Even at the Last Hearth, they celebrated the months that passed without a single sighting of wildings beneath the Wall.</p><p>They became reckless.</p><p><em> He </em> became reckless.</p><p>It was hard to see their mistakes until the consequences came upon them like a storm.</p><p>
  <b>*</b>
</p><p>Laughter filled the courtyard of Winterfell, bringing a smile to the faces of even the dourest of lords that visited. It was hard not to feel the effect of Lady Sansa’s household as they watched the sparring session within the training yard. Theon and Robb quipped with one another endlessly, yet their voices were drowned out by the ladies that watched them.</p><p>“A stag says Lord Robb wins the day,” Wylla said with a gleam in her eyes.</p><p>“Thank you, my lady,” Robb said with a grin, giving her a flourishing bow.</p><p>“Two stags says that Greyjoy knocks your Lord Robb into the dirt,” Lyra said, leaning over the fence of the yard.</p><p>“Five stags that I can beat the both of them,” Arya piped up, smacking Rickon in the back of his leg with a wooden sword.</p><p>He hopped on the other leg with a scowl, his curses drowned by Theon’s abrupt coughing as he saw Lady Catelyn walking towards them at a brisk pace, followed close behind by Lord Stark.</p><p>“Sansa.”</p><p>The smile faded from Sansa’s face as she lifted her head from where she’d been straightening the ribbon around Lady’s neck.</p><p>“What is it?” she asked, her voice cutting through the levity in the air.</p><p>“It would be better to do this inside,” her father said quietly, his eyes darting about the yard.</p><p>Sansa took a step away from the others, Lady at her side as she examined the pale look of her mother’s face and the deep sadness in her father’s. He held a scroll in his hand and even though the seal was broken, Sansa could see enough of it that she knew exactly where it came from.</p><p>“Tell me,” she demanded, forgetting all composure as she advanced on them quickly.</p><p>Robb all but vaulted over the fence at the tremor of fear in his sister’s words, closely followed by a frowning Arya.</p><p>“Sansa—” her mother whispered, reaching out to her.</p><p>“No,” she said, reaching out a shaking hand.</p><p>Ned did not allow her to take it, though he looked from one face to another before letting out a quiet sigh.</p><p>“Wildlings were spotted south of the Wall again,” he said warily.</p><p>“I thought they stopped coming,” Robb said with a frown of his own.</p><p>Sansa’s hand lifted to grasp at his arm when their father shook his head.</p><p>“They hadn’t been seen in months,” he said, looking down at the letter in his hand. “The Greatjon thinks… he thinks that Jon must have gone out for a hunt with Ghost.”</p><p>Tears sprung to Sansa’s eyes as fear struck her heart.</p><p>“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, no he can’t— he can’t be—”</p><p>Arya let out an abortive noise of fear, her mind going down the same path.</p><p>“They found his horse but no trace of him otherwise,” Catelyn said gently, reaching out towards her daughter only to be rebuffed once more.</p><p>Sansa let out a choked sob, her knees giving way beneath her. Robb caught her in his arms, holding her close with a look of horror on his face.</p><p>“They think that he has been taken by the wildlings, north of the Wall,” Ned said, stepping forward. “Only taken.”</p><p>It mattered little to her. Jon. <em> Her </em> Jon. Her knight. Her husband. Her love.</p><p>Gone.</p><p>A sudden scream of anguish shattered the previously joyful air in Winterfell.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I would love love love to hear what you think!</p><p>The time jumps slow down A LOT in the next chapter so we'll see a lot more of Sansa's companions and life at Winterfell as well as all of Jon's north of the Wall experiences. I hope you are all excited because I am!</p><p>If you ever want to prompt me or talk to me, my Tumblr name is snowsinthenorth. Feel free to come around and send me asks!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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